


Finding Skywalker

by showmaster64x



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Darth Vader Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23622310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/showmaster64x/pseuds/showmaster64x
Summary: After his miserable defeat at the battle of Yavin, Vader senses that he has reached a crossroads. A crashed TIE and a damaged suit put him in a peculiar situation. Vader/Ahsoka. Reposted from my ff.net account
Relationships: Ahsoka Tano & Darth Vader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: AU directly after ANH. Mild Vader/Ahsoka, if you choose to see it that way. I really wanted to try my hand at a story where Vader is forced to go suitless.

Chapter 1

.o.o.o.o.o.

It seemed that the whole planet of Arda was flat, wet marshes.

It was difficult to tell from the atmosphere, and from the cockpit of a burning TIE fighter, but once submerged, it became clear. Or not. It became a tomb of mud. It wasn't enough to to put out the fire, however. The flames still raged, fed by copious amounts of fuel that leaked from perforated tanks.

The force of the impact had left him unconscious for several minutes and in that time, the fire had consumed everything. He was dazed as he came to, staring at a wall of orange flames and a dashboard of melting flight instruments. His mind was blank as he heaved his bulky frame from the twisted metal and the enveloping inferno.

The suit was damaged. Irreparably so. It was built to withstand heat, to a certain degree. It could endure small spurts of flame resulting from explosions in the vacuum of space, but this heat was far too much. The sensors and the controls were fried and the mechanical respirations had ceased, leaving him trapped and unable to draw in air.

After he'd crawled clear of the wreckage, he forced the helmet from his head and drew in his first real breath of atmospheric air in nearly two decades. Making the change from automated breathing to self-breathing was always an awkward transition, even in the hyperbaric chamber. For him, the effort of taking a single breath was a voluntary action that required thought, much like trying to move an arm or a leg. The Force could aid him, but even that would eventually become taxing.

Arda's atmosphere was heavy with moisture. Vader was relieved to see that his modified TIE still came equipped with a standard emergency supply pack, which contained oxygen. He fitted the mask over his face and immediately reclined back into the mud to await the return his strength. He could feel the near freezing wetness of the ground below seeping into the patchy hair on the back of his head. Indeed hair. He could still grow it in some places, and there hadn't been much time in the weeks before the battle of Yavin to sit down and shave it all off. His face as well was covered in a mess of stubble that was thick on one side and thin on the other, where the scarring was heavier.

He raised his arms up towards the misty sky so that he could view them with his less than perfect vision. The prosthetics were undamaged, but the leather of his suit had burned away, leaving most of the metal exposed. Fortunately, the synthetic under-pieces of the suit remained to preserve his modesty and cover what flesh he had left. His hands inspected his torso, and while he was certain that nothing was broken or bleeding, he would certainly be bruised and aching once the adrenaline left his system. He yanked the remaining wires from his body, seeing as they were now useless. He gagged mightily as he pulled up the feeding tube and winced as the metal of his fingertips gripped sensitive skin while removing the catheter.

It seemed that, for as long as it would take him to find his way back to Coruscant, he would be forced to exist in his natural state, pathetic and sub-human as it was. The unlucky men eventually sent to retrieve him would be in for the shock of their lives, just before they came to an untimely end.

The flames burned down to nothing and night settled over the crash site, casting all into darkness. The numbness of recent events was finally dissipating and Vader was able to think clearly.

The Death Star was no more.

His master's pride and joy, the project that had been decades in the making had been destroyed on its first real mission. What had gone so horribly wrong to cause this? It was true that Vader had foreseen something of this nature, and had cautioned Tarkin against believing the structure was invincible, but even he wouldn't have guessed that it could be taken down with a single shot. A single shot, by a single fighter.

The rebellion had grown strong, Vader realized. They had elevated themselves from terrorists to a force to be reckoned with. It had been folly to ignore their growing numbers for so long, to turn a blind eye to their festering ideology. Perhaps there was his only true error. General Tagge had warned them all, warned them of a possibility of a weakness to be exploited and spoken aloud Vader's true fears in that conference room on the Death Star. They had all simply written off his remarks as paranoia and a lack of understanding of naval warfare.

His master would be livid. Vader would take the fall for all of it as soon as he dragged his broken body all the way back to Imperial Center. Tarkin... Motti... Tagge... Yularen... they were all dead. Vader alone had survived and Vader alone would have to shoulder those deaths, and more importantly the destruction of the superweapon.

“ _Your sad devotion to that ancient religion has not helped you conjure up the stolen datatapes, or given you clairvoyance enough to find the rebel's hidden fortr-_ _”_

These had been Admiral Motti's snide remarks in the conference room, laying bare all of Vader's ongoing failures and fueling recent insecurities pertaining to the Force.

Vader had been in command of the operation to retrieve the stolen data. His bloodlust, his drive to locate the rebellion's main base had overshadowed the idea that the security of the Death Star could become compromised. He'd allowed the princess to escape in order to see where she would lead them. He'd made that choice. He'd located the seat of the rebellion's high command in the Yavin system, but it had cost the Empire its most precious weapon.

Palpatine would consider it a poor trade, certainly in light of the fact that the remaining Imperial presence in the Yavin system would be insufficient to stop the rebels from fleeing their base and going to ground once again. Vader had made more than a single strategic error, and he would pay the price.

In addition, if his master were to discover details of the pilot who fired that shot, Vader again would be held accountable. Vader had been outwitted by another pilot. A Force-sensitive pilot. He was certain that he'd felt it in the trench. The Force was like a pool of calm water and the disturbances were like ripples, felt more keenly the closer one was to the source. Whoever this pilot was, he'd only been given the most basic training. The presence had been rough and unrefined, but he was dangerous, and he was already working for the enemy. Vader's mission since the formation of the Empire had been to eradicate the Jedi, and by extension, all Force-users of the galaxy- an impossible mission- but one that he'd been tasked with regardless.

This had begun with Obi-Wan. Vader was certain. The Force was quiet and still, now, but it was the sort of quiet and stillness pervaded before a vicious sandstorm. It curled its tendrils around him, filled with portent and prophesy. He was... frightened. The actions that Obi-Wan had taken during their duel on board the Death Star had him reeling in confusion and terror. Perhaps Vader had been living in the past to think that Obi-Wan would respond to his taunts in kind. What he'd received instead were bizarre, cryptic statements that hinted at something bigger, something that went beyond their own history and personal squabbles.

“ _If you strike me down then I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine._ _”_

What had he meant with those words? And then to just surrender himself to Vader's blade...leaving no corpse whatsoever. It bothered Vader that there were things yet unexplained when it came to the Force. He had assumed, that under Palpatine's tutelage, that he would become knowledgeable in the more mystic aspects of the Force, and gain access to powers unimaginable.

None of that had come to pass. Palpatine hoarded his secrets, dispensing only enough to hold Vader's interest and keep him in thrall.

It had begun to rain. Droplets fell onto his bare face, cold and wet. He wondered if he should be angry at all that had transpired, but laying under the cover of the misty night in the wastes of Arda, he could summon precious little emotion. There was only resignation. He was tired and he wanted to shut his eyes for a while. 

.o.o.o.o.

The next morning, Vader awoke to white mist, and stinging cold on the bare skin of his face. He did not feel rested in the slightest. He'd spent the night in a healing trance to ensure that he would remain breathing and remain warm. This day, he would have to make a bid for civilization. He had only solid rations that he was unsure if his stomach would accept, and his oxygen would soon be running low.

He destroyed what was left of his TIE, leaving it impossible to identify, and buried his helmet and suit controls somewhere deep under the muck a good distance away. Until he could tell the story himself, no one would find out just who had crashed a TIE fighter in the marshes of Arda. The effort of it had left him dizzy and light-headed. Exertion of any sort was dangerous with his lowered breathing capacity. He packed what little he could, and began to wade through the mud toward where he could see higher, and preferably dryer ground far in the distance.

TIE pilots were trained never to leave their crashed ships. Their best hope of survival was that a rescue team would pick them up. The average TIE did not have lightspeed capabilities, and any ship sent to recover one would know exactly where to look.

No one would be looking for Vader, though. He'd used the seconds before the explosion to program a jump in his TIE Advanced to the next star system in order to get clear in time. They'd search the wreckage of the Death Star for him and proclaim him MIA or KIA.

He was a walking dead man, for multiple reasons, and that should not have been so comforting or so freeing.

By the end of the day, he'd reached a dank, rotting city on the edge of a muddy lake that stretched to the horizon. He'd barely seen it through the thick mist, but fortunately the noise of aircraft overhead alerted him to its proximity, and the mist had parted in reluctance.

There was a cantina at the edge of town and Vader found that he was drawn in by the smell. It certainly must be pungent if even his nose could pick it up. It didn't exactly smell good, but it smelled edible, and he was finding that he was hungry, and the day's hike and the effort to breathe had taken his last reserves of strength.

“We don't serve droids,” came the yell from the barkeep, who was wiping his glass in the back. Presumably, he had only taken a short glance at Vader, seen the gleaming prosthetics and made an assumption.

“Do I look like a droid to you?” This was what he would have responded with, were he in his suit with his functioning vocoder. Unfortunately, he was aware that his real voice was raspy and weak and couldn't possibly include the tone he'd intended for that statement. Instead he remained silent, shoulders drooping slightly as he was forced to come to terms with his own helplessness.

“Right then,” the barkeep said after realizing that Vader was comprised of slightly more flesh than he'd first thought. Vader stalked to the bar and collapsed onto a stool, eyeing a pot of meaty stew bubbling on a burner within the open kitchen door. He'd lived a great deal of his life attending state functions with only the most luxurious of foods being served, yet the first solid meal he was contemplating was little more than hot grease. 

The barman was in his face in a second, looking at him with unbridled disgust.

“My god, you've got to be the ugliest thing I've ever seen,” he said, unashamed. Vader thought that was ironic, since the species native to the planet, of which the barman was a prime specimen, was among the more hideous of the humanoids, in his humble opinion. The man was covered in sagging, grey skin that surely camouflaged itself against the surrounding muddy plains. 

He wondered if he should be offended. It had been so long since someone had commented on his appearance in a negative way that he was unsure how to react. Should he lash out and kill the man? It seemed a bit drastic and it would certainly cause a scene. His eyes made a quick tour of the cantina, taking notice of a group of spacers in the far corner arguing over their pints, as well as two, younger twilek women were giggling drunkenly to themselves at the other end of the bar. His hand, which had slid toward where his lightsaber hung fell limply back to his side. He would have to kill them all, he knew, though after that he would then have to contend with the local law enforcement once they were alerted. He did not have the energy.

He could hear the wheeze of his own breathing and was hit once again by a wave of exhaustion. There was a stack of loose credits in his emergency pack. He placed them on the bar, marveling how he hadn't had real money in his hands in two decades. He removed the oxygen mask to speak.

“Fortunately, my credits are still good,” he bit out in a terribly hoarse whisper. The barman slid the credits over to himself but didn't take his small, shifty eyes off of Vader. 

“Don't get Imperials out this way too often.”

“Good,” Vader wheezed. The man was fishing for information. He didn't know anything beyond the fact that Vader was paying him with Imperial credits, which wasn't all that strange, even as far out as they were. 

“Where'd you come from?”

“Space.”

“There's a big battle that took place in space not too far from here, over near Yavin. You know anything about that?”

“Good scavenging.” He managed to cough out, more exhausted with each word. If he was to lie low and find a way to recover his strength, he might as well construct a character for himself. Such were the games of his Jedi days. As Vader, he'd had little need of them, but he certainly remembered how they were played. 

“We don't want none of what you're selling in this town, stranger. Eat your meal and be on your way.” A bowl of stew and a ball of hard bread were dropped down in front of him. 

The first few mouthfuls of the questionable stew came right back up, and Vader wasn't sure if it was due to the taste or due to the fact that his esophagus hadn't had to do any real work in all the time of the Empire's existence. He was able to force it all down eventually though, and even enjoy the feelings associated with eating something real and hot on a cold, wet day. These were old sensations, but he found that they added a layer of... dimension to life, and he'd... well, he'd sort of missed it.

He was sure he'd be singing a different tune when he ran out of supplemental oxygen, however.

The temperature in the room dropped when the doors behind Vader burst open again. He didn't turn to look, but he could feel the person enter, stepping from the wet wind outside. The chill Vader experienced wasn't at all physical, however. His veins seemed to run with ice and he went rigid in his chair. Time slowed to an agonizing degree. Seconds passed with the infinite extending between them. Somewhere within the moment, Vader had finally called his lightsaber to him. He held it in an ironclad grip, hidden beneath the bar he was sat at.

“Ashla! It's good to see you're still around. What will you have today?” the barman inquired, oblivious to the silent stand-off. 

“Oh, the usual,” she answered, falsely cheery, though her body remained tense. There was a small pause, “Actually, why don't you make that two,” she added. The man went to work filling up two glasses of a milky liquid and set them down on the bar. The woman approached to take the drinks, finally entering into Vader's line of sight, but he refused to turn to her. He felt her slide out the barstool near him, leaving an empty one in between them.

“There you go, Ashla. Anything else?”

“Just you, handsome,” she purred, and the barman laughed. 

“I think my wife would have something to say about that,” he said, becoming jovial. Perhaps he would have had more to say, but Vader felt the push of a Force persuasion tingling in the ether. The barman realized he suddenly had something important to do in the kitchen and left them alone.

Several minutes of silence passed, heavy and oppressive. He waited for her to say something, because eventually the moment would have to be broken. The subject would have to be breached. Was he trapped in one of his nightmares? Meeting again like this seemed impossible otherwise.

There was a noise of a glass sliding over the wooden surface of the bar. An offering of peace, if only temporary. She pushed the glass until it clinked against the little finger of his prosthetic. He had a vision of himself snatching her arm in that moment, hauling her up to face him and watching the expression in her eyes as he drove his lightsaber into her flesh.

Wishful thinking. She wouldn't die so easily.

“I'd say you're looking well, but it would be a lie,” she opened, “It's rice wine, by the way. Too sweet for you, probably. We never had the opportunity to have a drink together. I was too young, and you...” she let out a small laugh, “It was the one thing you weren't willing to bend the rules on... and it would make me so angry. I always wished that you would treat me like an adult.”

“What are you doing here?” he rasped, cutting her off before she could relay more excruciating memories. Would she not speak of their last encounter? Would she simply pretend that it had never occurred?

“I belong in these cantinas,” she explained, “You, on the other hand...” she let the sentence trail. “I actually never thought we'd meet again. Certainly never in a place like this, but..”

_The Force is mysterious like that..._ was the unspoken part.

She lapsed into silence. He felt the Force coalesce around her and he inspected it for murderous intent, but it seemed to have drained away, leaving only despair.

“You declared me your enemy,” he reminded her. Surely she could see the physical advantage she currently had over him. What cruel mistress the Force was to have led to him one of the only people who would recognize him like this... and who had the necessary skills to end him. Should he be worried? The Force spoke no warnings. 

“That hasn't changed.”

“Then why waste your breath? It is pointless to drag this out any further,” he growled. He had yet to release his lightsaber, and his fingers gripped it tighter once again, under the bar and out of sight. At their last meeting, before their duel, he'd offered her the chance to stand at his side again and she had refused him. She'd fought him to protect those worthless rebel friends of hers, as if their bond had meant nothing. “I offer you mercy and cooperation and you deny me.”

“Yet you send your Inquisitors after me.”

“It is the new order of things. Join me or die.”

“That's a lousy choice.”

Vader's left fist clenched on the table. It made no sense to him. She'd left the Jedi long before the fall, had had even less patience than he with the pious and arrogant teachings. The Jedi had wronged her and he had killed them. Why was he not a hero in her eyes? Why could she not join him now? Couldn't she see that was the only way he could offer her any protection? Palpatine would not allow rogue Force users in his new galaxy.

“You'll always be my hero,” she said quietly. Had he thought it so loudly? The remark distracted him for a moment before he was able to lock away the emotions it had conjured.

“But you'd rather keep company with rebels and separatists,” he accused bitterly. Finally, he took his glass in hand, deciding that there was no reason he wouldn't be able to metabolize the contents. He knocked it back in a few gulps, grimacing with the burn in his throat. “Perhaps I should offer my congratulations for the rebellion's victory at Yavin.”

“I... no longer count myself among them,” she admitted eventually. The words hung between them for a while, a new development to take into consideration. Vader's silence urged her to explain “In the beginning I thought... I don't know what I thought. That I could make a difference, maybe. But then I realized that I didn't want to relive the Clone Wars. I think the Jedi had it right, you know? About staying out of conflict. The whole time I was there they were wanting me to lead... and to fight... and to make judgments, just because I could use the Force. There's something not right about that, wouldn't you agree?”

He agreed, in a way, insofar as gods were not meant to interfere in the realms of mortals, but he would never relinquish his own power no matter how wrong it could be considered. He'd earned it and it was his right. The Jedi had been weak, and their attitudes toward conflict would have served them better if they'd remained peaceful monks. They lacked to will to dominate and to take control, and it had been their downfall.

“Obi-Wan,” she said in a tiny voice, “I felt... in the Force... Can you tell me what-”

“He is dead,” Vader answered harshly, feeling no need to soften the blow, “I killed him.”

She nodded, a stiff jerk of the head, and then swallowed thickly, as if he had just confirmed her worse fears. Suddenly her walls began to crumble. The mental shields that she had fortified so meticulously seemed to collapse under their own weight as she fought to rein in her devastation.

Surely she wouldn't...

Vader felt her resolve break even before she brought her hands up to her face to stem the flow of oncoming tears.

Disgusting. That she could still feel something for that callous, manipulative Jedi meant that she would not be pulled to his cause and was not worth his time. It was paranoia that kept him in his stool, however. Perhaps this was all an act and she was just waiting for the moment he turned his back on her. It would be a non-issue were he at full strength and safely encased in his protective suit, but at the moment he was acutely aware of how vulnerable he was. If he could barely catch his breath while walking then how would he manage a duel?

“How have things come to this?” she sobbed, breath hitching, “We were a family!”

_No,_ Vader thought acerbically,  _I had a family, and Obi-Wan took them from me. May his mind rot in a Force purgatory for all eternity._

He glanced to her finally. She'd hardly changed at all since their duel on Malachor. She wore a roughspun white cloak with the hood pulled over her head. Vader had no concept of what passed for beauty within the Togruta race, but she was pleasing even to his damaged eyes. She was in her prime now, far from the gangly kid she'd been under his tutelage. It seemed almost wasteful that he would eventually have to kill her.

The barman chose that moment to emerge from the kitchen once again. He took one look at Ahsoka's reddened eyes and turned a glare on Vader. Ahsoka immediately reached up to grab a cold, metal arm. Vader was hit with a barrage of furious emotions. How dare she touch him? How dare she claim such familiarity? He stopped short of flinging her across the room and merely shrugged from her grip.

“Rigil, this is my old friend. We grew up together and haven't spoken in many years,” Ahsoka explained in a weary voice. 

“Ah, is that so? Well, good for you,” the barman said with a tinge of awkwardness, probably remembering his rude comments to Vader earlier. “Why don't you have another one on the house?” He turned away for a moment and then set down two new glasses in front of them. They remained untouched and the barman went to fill an order at the other end of the room. 

Ahsoka placed something on the bar with a loud thud. When she removed her hand, Vader saw that it was a pair of lightsaber hilts. Her own. She downed her new drink with impressive speed and slammed the empty glass on counter beside them.

“Go on, then,” she said in a voice barely more than a whisper, “If you can kill him then you should have no problem killing me. Do it, I've already made my peace.”

Anger flared anew in him. Were he in her position, he would not have hesitated to attack a disadvantaged adversary. Emotion, stubborn pride, former friendships- these things did not win wars. They were not practical. As ever, his former apprentice thought more with her heart than with sense.

It was insulting, this attempt to provoke the ghost of his former self. He was beyond grief and guilt and the virtues she espoused, and she was arrogant to think of herself as morally superior. She wished to martyr herself, it seemed, and he would have none of it.

“Pathetic,” Vader remarked, collecting up the cylinders in his fist. They were small, built for tiny, dexterous hands. She'd changed the crystals, but everything else was how he remembered them. 

“I can't kill you and I won't join you. What else is left for me to do?” she said, very calm now, “By your own logic, I must die.” He could feel her dark glare, even as he continued to turn the saber hilts over in his palm, inspecting the scuffs in the metal and the grime that had gathered on the grips. 

“You are weak, and unfit to carry such noble weapons,” he decided, and clipped them to his belt. He'd be a fool not to take them now, when they were being freely offered. A fresh wave of exhaustion came over him, as well as a slow-developing nausea. Speech was tiresome and it was causing him to become light-headed after every sentence spoken. His situation was rapidly worsening, and he needed to be gone from this place so that he might begin finding his way back to Imperial space. 

He realized suddenly that the Force had not in fact conjured Ahsoka to serve as another hurdle to overcome.  The Force had delivered her to Arda for his benefit. He could  _use_ her. Use her and discard her when necessary. After all, if she was willing to offer up her life, then what else might she be willing to offer up? 

Vader eyed his own drink. This time he didn't hesitate to gulp down the contents. She'd been right. It was too sweet.  “ You must have a ship here, ” he coughed when he emerged. 

“I might,” Ahsoka replied elusively, “What's it to you?”

“I require transport off this planet.”

.o.o.o.o.o.

It was raining. The heavy clouds had seen fit to finally start their bombing run. It was a light rain, however. Ahsoka had been on Arda for a few weeks now, and she knew just how bad the rains could get.

It had been the Force that told her to come here, whispering in her ear like an old lover. The Force was the only cause, the only master that she still served. These endless wars of the physical realm, they were draining and tedious. It had broken her to finally realize that they would never cease. It wasn't her fight any longer.

The battle of Yavin had come as a surprise, and to learn through Arda's patchy holo reception that the rebellion had delivered such a mortal blow to the Empire was even more shocking. She had originally assumed that the battle was the reason the Force had brought her here to Yavin's neighboring system, but now...

She'd felt his presence in the cantina, frayed and intermittent, as if alternating between wanting to stay hidden and desperately needing to draw on the connection for survival. She hadn't had a plan in her mind when walking through the doors, only that she  _must_ confront him. To see him without the suit was a shock she'd been unprepared for. It was easy to hate the black-cloaked atrocity, but not the man within.

She'd been defeated even before she'd spoken her first words to him.

They left the cantina together and after only a block or so, the man behind her fell to his hands and knees in the muddy gutter in order to heave up the contents of his stomach. She was left to wonder at his situation. Clearly, he had become stranded in this system following the battle. Was there no one looking for him? What had become of his life support apparatus? To finally see him up close on Malachor, she'd been appalled to realize just how much that suit did for him. He should be dead. His life was artificial.

At one time she might have attempted to lighten the mood with a snide remark, eager to tease him about an inability to hold his liquor. Somehow she didn't think he'd take it in stride. There was no humor in this situation, only sadness.

She barely recognized him anymore. He was covered in injuries, some old and some new. He'd once been so vibrant and alive and... happy. Now, he was monstrous, more machine than man, dead inside. He'd killed so many now, and Obi-Wan's death stung the most. The galaxy had become such a hellish place with the rise of the Empire. Comrades, bothers, friends all murdered by those once trusted above all else.

He wanted her to be outraged over Obi-Wan's fate. It was the reason he'd boasted of the murder, dangling it in font of her face and attempting to provoke a fight. She could muster up the feeling, she was sure, but to claim such moral superiority would only make her a hypocrite. It had been she who drew her blade first on Malachor, with an intent to slay Vader in order to avenge Anakin. The difference was only that she'd been unsuccessful in her own attempt at vengeance, whereas Vader had been able to put a decisive end to whatever feud had developed between him and Obi-Wan.

She did not know what had occurred between them, and she was terrified to ask, terrified that such information would change her view of both men forever.

But there was still something. Something buried, lurking in the depths of Vader's soul that was recognizable. Without it, she would never have sensed his presence and would never have followed him into that cantina. She wondered if she appeared as changed to him as he did to her. The were both broken- her spirit, his body. It was so odd- being here with him like this. It was as if the Force had somehow drawn them together, had given them this brief moment in their lives to make what amends they could. She would be a fool to squander such a gift.

She bent down next to him with a caution that she never would have needed during the days he had been her master. Slowly, she took his arm and placed it around her shoulders so that she could help him stand. He held the oxygen mask to his face as he stumbled along at her side, and she could see the reader on the bottle pointing its needle at empty.

By the time they had finally reached her junky freighter on its landing pad the storm had worsened. Inside the freighter it was dry, but it smelled old and musty. The lighting was dim and flickering, but Ahsoka could see as she laid Vader onto the spare cot that his scarred lips had turned blue. He was visibly struggling to breathe.

She was able to locate another tank of oxygen in her own emergency supplies, but only that one. It would not last long. She bit her lip. What should she do?

“Stay,” came the barely audible whisper. It was almost drowned out by the sound of the rain beating down on the shuttle's exterior. Her heart gave a wrench, and she tried to analyze that single word for hidden meanings. Surely she wouldn't have found him out here... only to lose him now. 

The metal of his fingers was cold and slick as she held them in her own, taking a seat on the floor aside the cot.

“I won't leave you,” she told him. 

.o.o.o.o.o.

Despite Vader's claim that he was in need of a ride, he did not ask her to take him anywhere the next day. Nor the day after that. She suspected he'd caught a bit of a chill out in the rain and cold and he did nothing but sleep.

She got wise after the first night, after she witnessed him stop breathing several times. The muscles he needed to force air in and out of his lungs were weak and atrophied. Being on oxygen helped, but only due to the fact that what little he could breathe was at least more concentrated. He could not sustain himself indefinitely.

She sourced parts from a dealer and a junkyard and a medical station manned by unsuspecting droids. The pieces of her project were spread out on the floor in front of her when he finally woke.

“What... are you doing?” he said through labored gasps. 

“Building you a device to help you breathe.”

“Don't bother,” his head fell back onto the cot, “Take me to the spaceport on Felucia. There's an Imperial garrison there.”

“Then this might be a bad time to tell you that I'm short a working hyperdrive.”

“Fix it,” he hissed.

“I... uh, don't know how.”

The only indicator of his annoyance was his slow blinking. In truth, the problem with the hyperdrive was a simple fix, but it would require hours of work in taking the unit apart and reassembling it. She  _could_ do it herself, but he would do it better, and much quicker, if only she could get him in working order once again. 

He didn't even need her to take him to Felucia. Not really. Arda was a backwater planet if there ever was one, but it still had holo access. The population had comlinks and long-range communications and the system was considered neutral territory. He could simply head to a government building and make a call, so why didn't he demand that instead?

Maybe it was something as simple as pride. Maybe Darth Vader, supreme commander of the Empire's military might didn't want to have to call and arrange a pickup. Perhaps he'd rather march up to the Imperial garrison on Felucia on his own two feet and never have to explain the awkwardness of the situation he currently found himself in.

Her old master had been like that. Always about saving face.

He remained awake and spent the next few hours watching her work in total silence, never even offering a single tip, though she knew he must have plenty. Still, he sat up for her and allowed her to thread the thin tubes into his nose and throat, so he must have been satisfied with its construction. It was a small machine, and very quiet, with only the barest hiss in its compressions. He could wear it on his belt if he wanted.

She stepped back to admire her work, hands on her hips.

“There. Good as new.” She felt she should say it because it was something that might normally be said after such work, but as she looked at him, she really saw him. He was beginning to waste away on his broad frame. The patches of hair on his scalp and on his chin were prematurely white, every single limb was metal and machinery, and every inch of remaining skin was covered in burn scars. His yellow eyes seemed to shine in the dim light as he watched her.

Who was she trying to kid? Nothing about him was good as new. Nothing about  _them_ was good as new. And it never would be.

.o.o.o.o.o.

The rain dulled their senses, making them exist in a groggy dream. It was hypnotizing to watch it come down outside the freighter's ramp. Together, they pulled out the hyperdrive and began to disassemble it, but the process was slow, sapped of any real urgency by the weather around them. A few times, Ahsoka found her mind drifting and she just stared out beyond the landing pad into the grey-white mist.

Meals were taken at the same cantina where she'd found him. She'd already been a regular, and she'd been friendly with the Ardan owner, Rigil, and several of the other common patrons. However, with Vader at her side she found she could no longer indulge in small talk with them. His sour presence caused strangers and friends alike to attempt to minimize interaction time.

She took it in stride. Though her own style was to try and make friends wherever she went, she knew she was only using them. Eventually she would have moved along, Vader or no, and they would just become more memories to fade into the background of her life.

They sat at a booth in the back, Ahsoka with her boots on the table aside her plate, and Vader across from her, attempting to connect to the holonet with an old device. The reception remained only static. Ahsoka's head lolled against the torn, moldy cushion as she turned her head to him. He'd made more of an attempt at blending in, donning a brimmed hat to hide the scars along his scalp and a long, mud-splattered poncho matching those worn by the locals. Frayed gloves with a few of the fingers missing covered most of the metal of his hands and a dirty bandanna was pulled across the bridge of his nose, hiding the lower part of his face.

What was going on? This was insanity. She shouldn't be here with him. Nothing would come of it. It was plain indulgence on her part and it was dangerous. She could probably take him out. For the Jedi, for the rebellion, for the murders he'd committed. But she was a flawed, selfish individual, despite how hard the Jedi had worked to drum that out of her. She wanted to continue in this denial. She wanted to play pretend, for whatever it was worth, and for however long as he would let her.

She watched his hands fumble with the holo receiver, trying and failing to put a tiny screw back into its place.

Maybe, just maybe, if she wished hard enough, they could go back in time to happier days.

.o.o.o.o.o.

He was stalling. He realized this on the sixth day, after he'd woken on the same cot and stared at the ceiling of the freighter yet again. In the hold, the same parts were still scattered around the skeleton of the hyperdrive, nearly no progress made from the previous day.

Why?

It was beyond the desire to shirk responsibility. He would accept it. He would face his punishment. He would continue his quest to rid the galaxy of Jedi and rebels alike. He'd no desire to run away, and yet he was still here days after he could have already been on Felucia.

There was a numbness that had settled upon him, born from the haze and the rain that drenched this sorry planet. It made him feel that he existed in a dream.  _Her_ presence did nothing to help. How easily she could make him forget his duties and succumb to the disease of nostalgia. 

It all just seemed so pointless quite suddenly. The Empire, the rebels, the galaxy itself. What difference would it really make if Darth Vader simply... never returned?

He was slumped heavily against the wall of the hold, a hydrospanner clutched loosely in his hand. Something fell onto his lap.

“What is this?” he asked as Ahsoka entered the area. 

“You can't see a thing. No wonder I've been doing most of the work,” she explained. He held up the optical aid in order to inspect it. He had to hold it very close in order to get a good look. She dumped a few more into his lap- an assortment of goggles, flex lenses, and eyeshields all with some component of magnification and all in various sorts of disrepair. Had she picked them from the garbage? He supposed the life of a warrior monk with no affiliations was a rather creditless one.

A pair of tinted eyeshields were the best match. He found he no longer had to squint while they were on, and the shading they provided reminded him of what it had looked like from the inside of his helmet. It was blessingly familiar. He twirled the hydrospanner in his hand and bent over some of the smaller panels that he'd been avoiding. He could feel Ahsoka's smug grin before she disappeared into the cockpit.

.o.o.o.o.o.

He fixed the holo receiver the next day, and Ahsoka was treated to an endless stream of programs reporting current events while they sat in the cantina.  She listened to the spun stories at half attention, having decided long ago that most of what came out of the dedicated media stations was fabricated or sensationalized, and what wasn't didn't matter anyway. It was why she'd let the device fall into disrepair, why she never bothered to connect via her ship. 

“ _...the tragic loss of the orbital station in the Yavin system, where millions of soldiers lost their lives. The day will indeed go down in history as one of the darkest in Imperial history..._ _”_

“Would you turn that down? I'm fairly certain that Arda is a planet where Imperials get taken out into back alleys and beaten within an inch of their lives,” she told him, picking dirt out from beneath her nails. He ignored her, toggling to another channel.

“ _...construction of the Tarkin memorial has begun in Imperial Center. Governer Tarkin lost his life during the battle for Yavin, but his legacy will live on. In this segment we will explore the man and his achievements while in service to the Empire..._ _”_

She snickered, unable to help herself, taking unexplained glee in hearing of Tarkin's death. Good riddance. Justice, for what his battle station had reportedly done to Alderaan, though that too was now blamed on the rebellion. Justice, for when he'd sentenced her to execution all those years ago for a crime she had never committed.

Vader glared at her. The channel changed again.

“ _... reports from Imperial Center say that the Lord Darth Vader has returned to the palace, still recovering from injuries he sustained in the battle. He remains in critical condition._ _”_ the footage cut to an image of Vader's usual shuttle landing in the palace's main hangar, but of course, there was no footage of the man himself.

“Huh, so that's how they're playing it,” she said aloud. 

“Enough of your inane comments,” he snapped.

It made sense. The Empire didn't want to proclaim him dead when some amount of uncertainty still existed, but they needed an explanation as to why no one had seen him since Yavin, and an easy way to kill him off should it finally become necessary. How much time would have to pass before they decided to announce a state funeral? How much time did he have to return?

The holonews anchor was still droning away, though on a different subject:

“ _...that the faction of rebels who claim to have orchestrated the attack on the Death Star call themselves the Alliance to Restore the Republic. They have taken to the holonet in order to broadcast their message of hate. Among their number is the rebel pilot allegedly responsible for the lethal shot to the reactor, a man going by the name of Luke Skywalker..._ _”_

She looked up suddenly. The sound of that name was like the bite of a lightsaber against bare skin. Vader as well had gone deathly still, all attention on the holo. The moment was suspended in time, everything else forgotten.

Was it only a coincidence? It had to be. It was just a name, and the galaxy was a big place. It shouldn't matter to her anyway. Anakin Skywalker was dead and buried, and he'd had no living family back on Tatooine. He'd said so himself, and Obi-Wan had corroborated this in another, unrelated conversation.

“He dares!” Vader spat, suddenly outraged. Clearly, he thought the name to be something deliberate. There was a clap of thunder outside. The holo device fizzed into static and they lost precious moments of the report, but eventually it came back into focus. 

“ _...by the Emperor's declaration that no efforts will be spared in the hunt for Luke Skywalker._ _”_

The device hurled itself across the room and shattered to pieces against the opposite wall. Vader had already stomped out the doors of the cantina, leaving them swinging in his wake. The cantina's other guests had looked up from their drinks at the commotion and were now focused on Ahsoka. She laughed nervously.

“Charming guy, that friend of yours, Ashla,” Rigil scowled from behind his counter, breaking the tension. She pasted a sheepish smile on her face, and offered profuse apologies as she went to pick up Vader's mess. “He's the wrong sort, Ashla. I can tell. You're much too good for him. Much too young and pretty.”

Her brow twitched after realizing the conclusion he'd drawn. Though she supposed it would be easier to let other people think that way about their relationship.

“He's just a little lost Rigil,” she replied, “But then again, so am I.”

.o.o.o.o.o.o.

He sat just inside the ramp on Ahsoka's rickety folding chair. Tools and parts still remained untouched from their earlier work, but he  _would_ see it finished tonight. There would be no more delays. His elbows rested on his knees and his fingers were intertwined before his face as he brooded. 

A new layer had been added to the mystery and intrigue. There was a pilot within the rebellion who was skilled enough to outmaneuver even Darth Vader himself. The pilot was Force-sensitive with abilities to at least alter the trajectory of a proton torpedo while in combat and under enemy guns. And he had the audacity to call himself  “ Skywalker. ”

Vader glanced to the scattered tools. He should get the hyperdrive fixed, get to Felucia, and use the Empire's network of spies to track down this impostor and show him his egregious error. Palpatine would want the pilot too. He'd want him brought before the throne, he'd want to make an example of him.

Who had trained him? Was it Kenobi? Was it Ahsoka?

Not Ahsoka. He'd sensed her shock at the holo's announcement as well. It had been genuine. She hadn't expected to hear that name ever again. Kenobi then. Where had he been all of these years if not in hiding and training a padawan? It was almost a shame he was dead. There were so many questions left unanswered.

“ _If you strike me down then I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine._ _”_

Were those words in reference to this... Skywalker?

Ahsoka climbed the ramp of the shuttle. Vader listened to her footsteps draw closer and heard the whisper of fabric as she shed her wet cloak.

“There is rebel pilot daring enough to take the name of a dead Jedi and wear it like a badge of honor.” Vader opened. Surely, she was as curious as he was. Did she know anything? Had she ever heard of this pilot or come in contact with him?

“So what?” said Ahsoka. “It's not like you're using it. Maybe he'll prove worthy of it.”

He stood, metal fingers clinking as they formed fists. He thought about throwing her back against the wall with the Force. He thought about lifting her in a Force choke and demanding that she com her rebel friends, handing over all information pertaining to this pilot.

Could he overcome her? His breathing had been stabilized, but she was no easy opponent. And such a violent action would surely break this uneasy truce they'd fallen into. Perhaps she'd have no qualms with letting him kill her, as she'd previously stated, but he knew that forcing her to betray her rebel acquaintances was another matter entirely.

She knew what he was thinking. She held her ground, staring him in the eyes and waiting to see what action he'd take. He became hyperaware of the placement of his lightsaber, and hers as well, clipped right beside his own. She had no defense.

He bent and retrieved a tool, slinking away toward the mess of hyperdrive components. He didn't need her. Once he was back in his suit, once he was back on Coruscant, he'd have command of the Empire's entire intelligence apparatus, and an entire starfleet to enact his will.

.o.o.o.o.o.

“Your hyperdive is operational,” Vader announced as he strode into the cockpit the next morning. Ahsoka was seated in the pilot's seat, staring at a screen of scrolling information. She was bent forward in concentration, finger pressed to her lip in thought. She didn't even acknowledge him and he felt a stab of impatience. He marched over to her, standing behind the back of the chair in a menacing fashion. 

“Ahsoka. Start the take-off sequence. Set our destination as the Imperial garrison on Felucia,” he ordered her.

It was as if she hadn't heard him.

“This is a holonet site used by bounty hunters,” she explained calmly, “I've been checking it periodically to see if someone has placed a recent bounty on you, because... well it will mean that you've been missing long enough to hack off the Empire.” She raised a finger and tapped the screen as she spoke, underlining a name.

He had no time for this. He didn't care.

“There's nothing on you, at least nothing new, but someone's gone and put a bounty on Luke Skywalker's head for ten million credits.”

It was an enormous sum of money for a single man.

“They want him alive, too,” Ahsoka added. She looked to him with a question in her gaze. He could guess what it was. They both knew it was the Empire's money. Palpatine's, to be specific. Of course it would be nothing official, there'd be proxy after proxy, but the important fact was that Palpatine wanted Luke Skywalker for himself. And he wanted him alive. 

The screen shut off as Ahsoka began to power up the ship. The overhead lights dimmed and were replaced with the running lights, flooding the cockpit with the gloomy dark of a typically rainy, Ardan morning. Ahsoka made a small noise in her throat when he continued to stand behind her.

“The navigator's chair is there,” she said, gesturing to the other station in the cockpit and giving him a pointed look. “Those jump coordinates won't program themselves.”

He met her stare.

Five minutes later she was seated in the navigator's chair, muttering foul curses under her breath as she punched in the numbers. Vader settled into the pilot's seat, removing the hat from his head and pushing the cloth from his face to reveal scarred lips curled in the barest hint of a smile. He was where he belonged, flexing his fingers around the controls and attempting to get an early feel for the ship's maneuverability. It would be a difficult flight out of Arda's atmosphere, with the massive storm cloud swirling threateningly above them, but that, of course was where the fun began.

.o.o.o.o.o.

The journey to Felucia was relatively short. When Ahsoka was assured of their course and there remained little else to do in the cockpit, she left to visit the small fresher. Being so long in Arda's wet, clammy atmosphere had left her feeling as though she could never get fully clean. She'd begun to wonder if mold had crept into unwanted places, and of course the mud had never missed an opportunity to smear onto clothing and underneath fingernails. Daily showering had not been a part of the Ardan culture and so she had not bothered with it herself, even though the rainfall had allowed her to keep the water tanks full.

She wasn't all that sure what she would encounter on Felucia. It had been many years since she'd seen it last. However, it would pay to not smell like the wrong end of a bantha. She lost herself in the act of grooming, spending long moments in front of the mirror, frowning at her loss of muscle tone, and the less than adequate length of her montrals. She'd barely stepped into the water shower when she felt the reversion to realspace.

Immediately, there was a cacophony of alarms. Something connected with the ship and caused it to lurch violently.

“You've got to be kidding me,” Ahsoka said to herself, spitting a mouthful of water. She grabbed her towel and stumbled her way into the cockpit, leaving a wet trail behind her. Vader had both hands on the flight controls, calm and focused even as laser fire streaked across the viewport.

“What is going on?! I swear, I leave you piloting alone for _minutes_ and you find a way to-”

“We've come out of hyperspace into the middle of a skirmish,” Vader explained, straining to make his weak voice loud enough for her to hear over the alarms. He reached up to kill the proximity warnings, “It was not I who programmed the jump, or else we would have stayed in the civilian shipping lane, and been well clear of this.”

“Well _excuse_ me for assuming that you would prefer a more direct route,” Ahsoka growled, sliding back into her station, “Next time, you can do it yourself.” Laser fire clipped the freighter, hurling them into a spin.

“Get the shields up!” he barked.

“I'm on it!”

The ship stabilized and Vader rocketed them away from the thick of the fight. Ahsoka activated the transponder, hoping that the nearby fighters would back off once they realized her freighter wasn't part of the battle. However, she wasn't certain she was up to date on the frequency she ought to be using.

“This craft has only a single laser cannon? You disappoint me,” Vader rasped.

“What?! You're not actually thinking of using it, are you?!” Ahsoka said, betraying her anxiety. The ship cut a wide turn and the planet Felucia took form in the viewport. Covered in dense jungle, even from their distance she could only see yellow and green below the atmosphere. There were two star destroyers in orbit, prowling like territorial animals. Red cannon fire erupted from the turbo lasers intermittently and TIEs swarmed from the bays. Vader brought them around again and the rest of the battle took form, showing x-wing fighters launching from a massive Mon-Cal cruiser, with a rebel frigate and a blockade runner also in attendance. 

“The rebellion will have consolidated their forces around Yavin, in order to evacuate their people and dismantle their own base. This is likely a distraction. Still, it is bold. They are severely outgunned.”

“Aren't they always? Anyway, I did not come here to fight,” Ahsoka told him sternly, “Power down the gun and get us in atmosphere. I said that I'd see you to the surface, nothing more.”

“There has been a change of plan. My star destroyer, the ISD _Devastator_ is in orbit. We will dock with it instead.”

“Absolutely not. Do you think I'm an idiot?” Ahsoka retorted. He stared at her from the corner of his eye for a few seconds before his lips twitched, betraying some amusement.

“I will see to it that you are allowed to leave. You have my word.”

“Your word isn't worth what it used to be worth,” she hissed. 

“I have stayed my hand thus far, and I've given you no reason to distrust me,” he pointed out, “If you wish to be rid of me, this is the simplest and most covert way to do it. I can alter the logs so that this freighter never docked at all.”

Ahsoka glanced to Vader's profile, studying him for any hint of deceit. She saw that a lock of hair at the center of his widow's peak had grown long enough to begin to curl, making him appear just slightly more human. He'd had ample time to kill her while they were on Arda, and therefore it made little sense for him to double-cross her now.

She realized with a stab of pain that their time together was winding down. How would she say good-bye to him again? How could she leave him? How could she go back to hating him?

She shook her head roughly, feeling greedy and ungrateful. The Force had granted her this time with him. It was her job to cherish it and remember it, not to demand more.

“Fine! Let's get this over with,” she huffed, slumping back into her seat. He turned to her, intending to say more, but he broke off with a scowl and quickly looked away.

“You are indecent.”

She looked down at herself, seeing that her towel had fallen open.

“It's nothing you haven't seen before.”

“Ahsoka,” he barked in warning. She had a number of snide remarks to make on his prudishness, or on the fact that Obi-Wan wouldn't have been nearly so embarrassed, or that the Jedi council was dead, and so couldn't punish him for peaking, but she wasn't that child anymore, and he was not that man. 

And perhaps she wasn't so much of a treat to look at anymore anyway. Certain things weren't as... perky as they used to be.

“Don't do anything until I get back,” she said, standing from her seat. She tossed the wet towel in his direction as she left the cockpit, and had the pleasure of hearing him make a disgusted sound while extricating himself. 

They were steadily powering toward the closer of the two star destroyers when Ahsoka returned. Their nearness would have attracted the attention of the  _Devastator's_ crew by now, and sure enough, there was a light blinking on her coms panel when she retook her seat. 

“We're being hailed,” she told Vader before opening the channel. 

“Freighter _Little One_. This is the ISD Devastator,” came the voice of a young officer, “You are entering restricted space during an ongoing military operation. You are ordered to reroute.”

Ahsoka wondered at their next move. Would they wait out the battle before docking? It seemed logical. She was about to ask Vader when he unmuted his own coms in order to respond to the man.  He put a hand to his throat in order to better steady his voice, and when he spoke he left out his usual booming authority.

“ _Devastato_ r, this is the Freighter, _Little One,_ requesting permission to dock,” Vader said hoarsely, “I have clearance codes for docking bay 6A.” He didn't want to give away his identity. Not yet at least, or perhaps not to this lowly officer, she surmised.

“Negative, _Little One._ Docking permissions for non-military shuttles are currently suspended,” came the drawling answer of the officer at the other end of the line. She watched Vader's eyes narrow in anger or annoyance. Clearly, he was very used to getting his way. He spoke again, this time shedding all pretenses and false politeness from his tone.

“ _Devastator_ , I wish to enact security protocol two-two-xesh-osk. Acknowledge.” There was com silence for several seconds while they waited tensely for a response. 

“Please repeat that code, _Little One_.” said a new, slightly more authoritative voice. Vader obliged and the channel fell to silence once more. Clearly, there was some measure of confusion at the other end. Eventually, there was a pip that let them know the line was undergoing a transfer. A third voice came on the line, sounding very impatient.

“Civilian freighter, this is Captain Montferrat of the ISD _Devastator_. Who am I speaking with?” In preparation, Vader cleared his throat as best he could, but it did him little good in the end.

“You are speaking with Darth Vader, Captain. Verification code: seven-three-seven-seven-five-nine,” he rasped. There was a long pause, but then the captain's voice came back, this time much less confident.

“I... am sorry, sir, but your voiceprint does not match what we have on file,” the captain informed them, clearly torn over a desire to appease a potential superior and the need to follow protocol.

“Why do you think that is, Captain?” Vader asked, low and threatening as his damaged vocal cords would allow.

“I... must order you to heave to and submit to a boarding party... sir.” It was clear that Captain Montferrat had yet to encounter a situation of this nature in his military career. Ahsoka watched Vader's yellow eyes harden at the news. His jaw worked in annoyance as he contemplated his response. 

“Very well, Captain. Be sure to send the _right_ men," he hissed. He had eased up on the throttle. The _Devastator_ filled their viewscreen now. It blocked Felucia's star entirely and they sat adrift in shadow, with the battle now only distant streaks of light.

“This has the potential to go very wrong for me, Vader,” Ahsoka growled, now with the idea of a boarding party to fret over. Should she hide? Would they search the ship? Should she direct their attention elsewhere with the Force? 

“I should think it an easy skill for a Force user to remain unseen in the eyes of a few stormtroopers,” he said coolly.

“Better to not have to risk it at all.”

“I have faith in you.”

The freighter was directed outside the flight corridors and placed into standby mode. Eventually, a shuttle docked with them, and several troopers filed out of the airlock, wearing the blue pauldrons of the 501st. They passed Ahsoka in the corridor without even a glance and met Vader in the cockpit.

He stood calmly, hands clasped behind his back as the men encircled him. Though he was shabby and wild-looking, covered in scars, with four metal limbs and dressed in a frayed, mud-splattered poncho, he oozed dominance and intimidation.

Did these troopers know what they were looking at?

“Sir,” the commanding trooper approached hesitantly, a device in hand. “We've been tasked with acquiring your biometric data in order to verify your identity. Will you submit to a retinal scan?” Vader nodded, hand going to remove the lenses from his face and reveal his bright, yellow eyes. He allowed the man to step closer, holding the device up. After a brief moment, it let out a small beep.

“If you would care to remain aboard this ship, the _Devastator_ will tractor you in. Welcome back, Lord Vader.”

They took their leave, retreating back into their shuttle and detaching. The tractor beam engaged once the shuttle had cleared, pulling the freighter into the  _Devastator'_ s maw. Ahsoka watched with silent dread as they entered the hangar's shields. It had been so long since she'd been on a republic cruiser. She remembered them perfectly. Only this wasn't a republic cruiser. They were called star destroyers now. 

“I will see to it that the freighter is refueled.” Vader said to her after he's stepped up beside her to join in staring out of the front viewport. “Do not exit this ship. For any reason. If you do, I cannot guarantee that there will be no record of you once you are gone. Once the refueling is complete, you will have clearance to leave.”

“So... I guess this is good-bye.” She said quietly, crossing her arms in a self-soothing manner. She knew better than to think that she would receive any sort of thank you, any sort of feeling at all, and she only tortured herself by holding out for it. A wry smile formed on her lips as she awaited his response. He cocked his head to the side for a moment, as if considering.

“Your hand,” he said eventually. She blinked a few times before complying, holding out her right palm facing upward. He placed two slender cylinders in it- her lightsabers, newly rewired and carefully cleaned. He curled her fingers around them tightly before letting his own metal digits fall away, a facsimile of the time he'd held her padawan beads in his hands and she had walked away from the Jedi Order.

_This weapon is your life_ . 

She remembered the words, passed down through several generations of Jedi- and one of those little wisdoms that was unique to their line. He had not said them, and nor had he spoken them through the Force, but she knew they were on the tip of his tongue regardless.

The ship jolted beneath their feet with the landing, forcing them apart so that they might better steady themselves. He swept past her and made for the lowering ramp. She followed him out of the cockpit and stood just within the shadow of the interior, eager to remain out of sight. He paused before descending, head turning toward her just slightly.

The hesitation passed just as quickly as it came and he continued down onto the hangar floor with confident strides.  There was no honor guard stood outside for his arrival, and perhaps that had been by his command. The hangar was buzzing with activity as the battle continued to rage out in space. Pilots and techs and troopers went about their various duties, and no one seemed to pay any mind to the dirty vagabond disembarking in their midst. 

She watched him long after he had disappeared into the commotion. Any minute, she thought, a squad of stormtroopers would surround her ship and take her into custody. She would be dragged into the detention center, tortured into submission and forced to reveal all that she knew of the rebellion's inner workings. Even after her game of pretend had played out, she was still not naive enough to believe she'd gotten through to him on any level.

Then there was an audible click that let her know a nozzle had been inserted into her fuel tank, followed by the unmistakable sound of rushing liquid. In the cockpit, her coms crackled to life. The voice of a docking bay officer calmly informed her of her spot in the queue. It all seemed so surreal. She continued to stand in the darkness of the unlit corridor for several, drawn-out seconds. Eventually she shook herself out of her stupor and pressed the button to raise the ramp once again. It creaked upward and fitted into place with a sharp hiss. She drifted back to the cockpit and finally took up the pilot's seat for herself, sighing wistfully.

Perhaps... not all hope was lost for the galaxy, or for the man called Darth Vader.

.o.o.o.o.o.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This fic was written for me to explore the relationship between Vader and Ahsoka. While I currently don't intend for it to become a cringy fluffy romance between the two, I simply cannot deny the tension that exists between them. You have been warned.

Chapter 2

Commander Appo awaited him outside the entrance to the  _Devastator's_ hangar with a small contingent of 501 st . Vader was grateful for his foresight, for he realized quickly that if he wished to remain relatively anonymous until he returned to Coruscant, then he would require an escort. An un-uniformed, dirt encrusted civilian stalking through the halls of a star destroyer would be quickly apprehended and questioned. 

Perhaps the proper first course of action after his return to the star destroyer should have been to visit the medical center. After many days out of his suit he knew his health was far from what it should be. He was aware the his caloric and nutritional intake had been substandard. Lesions festered on his sensitive, unprotected skin, and the synthetic nerve endings within his prosthetics had shorted out, leaving him without any feeling in his limbs.

However, these things were not pressing, and Vader instead made for the lifts that would take him to the bridge, for they were still in the midst of a skirmish, and Vader wished to ensure a proper victory against even these meager rebel forces.

After stepping out onto the proper level and reaching the doors to the command deck, Vader's determined pace slowed to a halt. A number of men stood in his path, a squad of stormtroopers from the first legion and an officer clad in the uniform of the ISB. Vader knew the man only peripherally, for the officer generally had the good grace to keep his nose out of daily routines onboard, aware that he was a token representative of an inept, bureaucratic institution.

“Step aside, Lieutenant Fray. I am taking command,” Vader said in rough, cracked voice. 

“I cannot allow you to do that, Lord Vader. By order of the ISB, you are to be confined to your quarters until the _Devastator_ returns to Coruscant.”

“The ISB has no such authority,” Vader hissed, immediately furious both with the officer before him and with his own uncooperative larynx undermining his ability to intimidate. 

“The ISB has the highest authority when it comes to the protection of state secrets, of which you are currently one. Please, Sir, if you do not comply, I shall have to put you in binders and have you taken to a detention cell.”

The young man was nearly quivering in his boots as he spoke, for even he knew that Vader would never allow himself to be cuffed and put in a cell on his own star destroyer. Vader contemplated, glaring down at the young lieutenant, who did he best to avert his eyes, perhaps too terrified to look upon the true face of the monster.

It would seem to Vader that certain higher authorities within Imperial Center had an interest in keeping the ruse that Darth Vader was currently recovering from injuries on Coruscant as intact as possible. The iconic suit worn by Darth Vader had only a single, current replica, and it was within the Imperial Palace. And while Vader maintained a great number of his own, trustworthy troops on board the  _Devastator,_ there remained officers and personnel whose loyalty to Vader was dubious at best. Rebel agents were an ever-growing infestation, and certain Moffs and other influential individuals were not without their own spies.

Vader knew he could brush aside this lieutenant and his troopers easily, and it was likely that they would put up only a show of protest as he muscled his way onto the bridge. However, he was certain that Captain Montferrat was aware of this directive as well, and Vader would only meet more resistance inside. Vader was loathe to interrupt a battle in progress if his command was to be disputed. He was not so petty that he would place his own pride over defeating the rebellion. Captain Montferrat was capable enough for this, and even Vader had to admit that the ISB's reasoning for confining him to his quarters was not entirely unsound.

“I will withdraw, Lieutenant, so that I might discover the origin of your orders and dispel this annoying... legality,” Vader growled in his low, rasping voice before turning on his heel and striding back down the hall. His own men, still tense with the idea of a confrontation, stepped stiffly into his wake.

The small skirmish above Felucia was resolved within an hour and Vader was able to see its conclusion through the massive viewport in his ship quarters. The rebels and their meager forces melted into the black of hyperspace after suddenly recalling their fighters. Both sides had sustained minimal damage and taken few losses. Vader was not perturbed, for the ruse had been obvious, and all throughout that time he waited patiently in his rooms for his request to be answered.

When the call came he entered into the adjacent chamber, activating the holo display and opening the secure channel. He knelt, and the mud that still clung to his boots crumbled off, leaving him crouched in filth unbecoming of his station.

While he waited he wondered briefly what Ahsoka's reaction would have been if she'd found him in the suit instead, and been given no chance to take pity on his weak self. She so easily could have murdered him in that cantina- injured, starved, and oxygen-deprived as he was- but it was possible that the sight of his face, his true face, had helped to rob her of any desire for revenge.

The suit had been the symbol of his rebirth, the mask from which he did the bidding of the Sith and brought balance to the Force, but it had also become his tomb. Wearing it, he was no longer a man. He was no longer human. Before, he had never stopped to think about it, and it had never bothered him. What benefit could there possibly be to being human? Better to be a machine. Better to be impersonal and cold and unfeeling while enacting the Emperor's will... right?

But perhaps... his face had a use after all.

“You have kept me waiting, Lord Vader,” Palpatine opened, enunciating each word to demonstrate his impatience, though it was difficult to see any expression from beneath the hood. There was a short pause. “... and you seem to be out of uniform.”

“My suit was damaged when my fighter crash landed in the Arda system following the battle, my master,” Vader explained, and he sincerely hoped the mic could pick up his whispering rasp from where he stood. 

“The suit can be easily replaced,” Palpatine dismissed harshly, barely allowing him to finish the sentence, “Do you know what is not so easily replaced, Lord Vader?”

_An apprentice,_ Vader hoped, though he knew better. He'd always been aware of the fact that he was merely Dooku's replacement, who was Maul's replacement. If Vader's suspicions about the bounty on Skywalker were correct, it seemed that even Vader was to be considered somewhat expendable. 

He'd not dared to entertain those thoughts thus far, fearing the overwhelming betrayal and anger that might follow on their heels.

“Tarkin's overconfidence in the battle station's-”

“I will not hear your pathetic excuses!” the Emperor snarled, ripping away the oily facade he'd begun with, “The rebels should have never been able to put the stolen data to use. The loss of the Death Star so soon after the dissolution of the senate will incite mutiny within the mid and rim territories. I will not allow my Empire to be seen as weak. This failure of yours has cost us trillions, and will overshadow even your pitiful defeat on Mustafar.”

Vader raised his head slightly at the insult and spoke.

“I have killed the Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Vader reminded the old man stubbornly, pridefully. Though there had been little time between that event and the destruction of the superweapon, Vader had no doubt that Palpatine's operatives aboard the battle station would have informed the Emperor of the death of the Jedi, even when Vader had not made a formal report of it. 

The Force blow was unexpected. It impacted him, knocking him back and leaving him sprawled on the floor in an undignified heap.

“Do not take pride in something you should have accomplished twenty years ago, apprentice. I do not care about the resolution of a petty grudge between you and your former master. Such a childish squabble should not have taken precedence over the retrieval of the stolen data,” Palpatine's lip curled as he looked upon Vader with unbridled disgust. 

_It should have been you. Your life is worthless in comparison to that battle station._

Anger burned through Vader as he regained his footing and stepped closer to the projection, deliberately refusing to kneel this time. He longed to rage at his master; proclaim that the Death Star had been a failure at conception, and that no true power would ever be gained through wielding such a crude weapon, no matter how destructive its capabilities.

“I have reason to believe Kenobi has trained a padawan,” Vader said instead, wishing to gauge his master's reaction to this statement, and perhaps discover just what he had planned for the rebel pilot. Palpatine's eyes flashed, but ultimately gave away nothing. His silence emboldened Vader, however, so he continued, “The shot that destroyed the Death Star could only have been made by a trained Force user. Allow me to track down the pilot, Luke Skywalker, master. I believe he has been taught by Kenobi. And he has the audacity to take on the name of a dead Jedi.”

This time, Palpatine's distaste for the suggestion showed in his expression.

“I have agents sent to track down the pilot,” he dismissed, “You, are the other hand, are to be given more important tasks. You will assist me in cleaning up this mess that you have created. Perhaps it is not too late to turn this monstrous gaffe in our favor. Return to Coruscant immediately, Lord Vader.”

Vader said nothing for a long moment, and the silence was heavier than usual without the noise of the suit's respirator. It was possible that he was misjudging his master, but it almost seemed as if he was attempting to discourage Vader's interest in the pilot. Why?

“Or perhaps, Lord Vader, you wish to track down the pilot for a more... sentimental reason? Does that name mean something to you? Does it gall you that a lowly rebel seeks to taint it?”

“No, my master,” Vader answered in reflex, aware that to respond with anything else would only rekindle his master's rage.

“Then leave him for another. Return to Coruscant,” Palpatine growled with unmistakable authority.

It was clear that the conversation was at an end, and that Vader had lost a momentous amount of favor. Though he'd known such would be the case since the first explosion in the trench, he hadn't expected the resentment to linger like poison in his veins.

“And Lord Vader?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Do not come into my presence bare-faced again, no matter the circumstances. I will not tolerate such a display of weakness from you.”

“I understand, Master.”

.o.o.o.o.o.

Vader felt the transition to hyperspace when the  _Devastator_ finally broke from her battle group and changed trajectory for the core systems. He retreated into the hyperbaric chamber, shutting out the world around him and brooding over his fate. 

He could not stem the flow of mutinous thoughts. He abandoned his attempt at meditation. He was glad the death star was gone. His most pressing concern was Kenobi's supposed padawan, because he was now Vader's rival. It was only a matter of time before Palpatine managed to capture the pilot and court him using all the false promises that he'd once fed to Vader. It was unacceptable. The boy would die, Vader decided. He would deny Palpatine the opportunity of another apprentice. Vader would prove that he was superior and would not be subject to the same ousting that Dooku had. Upon his return to Imperial center he would make contact with a few, loyal agents of his own and send them to assassinate the child before Palpatine had the opportunity to draw him in.

And then, once his point had been proven, perhaps it was time to begin preparations for a regime change. Palpatine's tactics and style of governing had waned in effectiveness as the years passed and the Clone Wars began to fade into history. The old man could not understand that the draconian security measures that he had enacted during wartime were quickly growing intolerable in their current- relative- peacetime. Citizens no longer fearing for their lives and their futures were less willing to cede their privacy, their credits, and their hearts to the state. Palpatine had fallen into old practices of drumming up conflict where none existed, and Vader, often spearheading such false-flag campaigns, was growing weary of games and stunts that resulted in innocent lives being sacrificed for no great purpose.

Even a man as bloodstained and jaded as himself had to admit to a basic sanctity of life. He couldn't help but wonder what would happen when the killings he committed no longer could serve as examples; when every death began to stoke the flames of rebellion instead of beating a populace into submission.

And this recent marooning out in the wilds of a backwater planet sans his suit had brought the idea of his own mortality to bear. Did he wish to continue on forever as he had for the last two decades? Would he chase down rebels and traitors until his lungs finally quit on him? What sort of legacy would he leave behind other than a life of servitude to a corrupt master?

He'd once been destined for so much more. The thought burned as sure as the lava upon Mustafar. However, even after all of these years Vader was yet uncertain as to the extent of Palpatine's power. Could Vader manage to kill him alone? Had he not, at one point in time, watched the old man slay three Jedi Masters at once? How sure was he of his own abilities? Because he'd only be getting one chance.

He contemplated his new course of action in the still silence of the oxygen-rich chamber, lost in his thoughts and the hypnotizing glow of the screens that surrounded him. They scrolled through information, continually updating fleet movements and statuses.

A message came through on the communications screen, demanding his immediate attention with its priority flag. He opened the file, expecting to see a report on the most recent sightings of known rebel ships. It was nothing of the sort. Immediately, Vader recognized its sender as an unofficial contact from within the Imperial Palace. His eyes scanned the message once, and then twice to be sure he hadn't misread it in his bone-deep exhaustion. Palpatine's next stunt had taken form and Vader was rather dissatisfied with the role he was meant to play. He closed his eyes and exhaled heavily.

“So... it has come to this,” he said to himself in the dark, airy confinement. He checked the expected reversion time, noted that he had several hours yet to plot his counter-move, and then waved a bare, metal hand at the screens, causing them to fade to black. The jaws of the hyperbaric chamber released with a hiss, letting new light stream inside. Vader reinserted the grimy, unsanitary tubes of Ahsoka's respiration device and stepped with grim determination from the domed structure. Weary acceptance weighed heavy on his shoulders, countered only by the burgeoning resolve smoldering within his sulfuric gaze. 

.o.o.o.o.o.

On board  _Home One,_ the Alliance's high command convened an emergency meeting. They were a collection of frazzled appearances, with some individuals having been pulled away from precious sleep. It seemed, to Mon Mothma, that these meetings were becoming a frequent occurrence. In all the years of the Alliance's existence, never had events moved so quickly, and never had the stakes been higher. 

The Empire was in disarray, with cracks in their durasteel facade beginning to show. The death star's destruction had thus far proved a great boon to the Alliance. Already their ranks were swelling and new systems were pledging their support. The Yavin base had been successfully evacuated, and Alliance's growing fleet of warships could now cruise through rimspace relatively unhidden and unhindered.

But they had sustained losses as well. So large a victory had demanded a harsh price. Mon looked to the young woman at her side, sitting in a place that had so recently been occupied by the girl's father. Bail's death had taken a toll on them both. He had been one of the founders of their rebellion and his vision and drive would be sorely missed. Mon had lied awake the last several nights, wondering how she might continue on without the man. They had been in it since the beginning, since before Palpatine had even proclaimed himself emperor, for they had smelled the stench of a coup long before it had come to pass.

And Bail was not the only loss sustained. The Jedi, Obi-Wan Kenobi was dead as well, killed just before the battle above Yavin, just before he was to finally lend his aid to the rebellion, as Bail had always promised he would. It seemed he had sacrificed his life to protect the child, the boy who claimed to be the son of Anakin Skywalker.

Mon, was among the few who believed the boy's claim was true, for she had known the woman who had held the attentions of the late Jedi, Skywalker. Padme Amidala had been heavily pregnant just before her death, Mon knew, making the idea that the child had survived not at all outlandish. Bail would have believed the boy as well, were he still alive. He would have seen Padme in that youthful face just as she did.

An intelligence officer was in the center of the room, preparing the holoprojector for the presentation. When finished, the woman stepped back and received a nod from General Draven, prompting her to begin speaking.

“Gentlebeings, I am Captain Nioma of Alliance Intelligence,” she said in a clear, professional voice, “This meeting has been called to inform the council of a critical development that has taken place on Coruscant. Our sources on-planet have informed us that tomorrow the Empire will announce the death of Darth Vader.”

A hush fell about the gathering. Those who'd kept up quiet conversations between themselves suddenly ceased with the news. Since Yavin, the Alliance had waited in anticipatory silence for any announcements concerning Vader. They dared not hope. Surely they could not be rid of him so easily.

General Dodonna was first to speak up, leaning forward in his chair.

“I thought that we had previously determined Vader to have been killed in the explosion that destroyed the Death Star,” he stated. Captain Nioma nodded at this.

“That was what we thought initially, yes. Analysis of flight recordings and statements taken from our pilots have confirmed for us that Darth Vader was flying a modified TIE at the time of the reactor shot. We still believed there was a good chance he had died in the blast. Even when the Empire proclaimed that he had returned to Coruscant and was recovering from injuries, our intelligence suggested that this was a lie and that he was already dead. We believed the Empire would decide to announce his death at a more opportune moment.”

“What has changed?” asked the hologram of General Rieekan from the other end of the table.

“We now believe that Darth Vader did not die in the blast and nor did he return immediately to Coruscant after the battle of Yavin.”

“What evidence is there of this?” Admiral Ackbar, seated on Mon's other side, said skeptically. Again, Captain Nioma turned to Draven, who gave another nod of encouragement.

“Several hours ago there was an explosion in one of the hangars of the Imperial Palace,” Captain Nioma stated as the holo display in the center of the table blinked to life and projected several, grainy images. Mon recognized the great, blocky structure of the Imperial Palace on Coruscant. Different angles had been taken of a small section in one of the lower quadrants, captured from the lens of a passing craft. Smoke billowed from the building and a glowing hint of flames could be discerned. 

“This attack was not orchestrated by any group associated with the Alliance, nor did we receive any advance knowledge that it would take place. Our intelligence suggests that it was carried out by several highly placed individuals within the palace itself, and that it was, in fact, an attempt to assassinate Darth Vader as he made the trip down from his star destroyer, which is currently in orbit above Coruscant.” Several more images were displayed, this time taken from within the hangar itself, though only after the explosion had taken place. They suggested a certain pandemonium, with the blurred, white figures of stormtroopers broken from their neat lines and rushing to contain the situation. 

The images continued to cycle while Captain Nioma began to describe the various Imperial factions that would have the necessary motivation and influence to attempt such an assassination, though Mon's concentration had slipped as the stills became focused on a single man dressed in a black, officer's uniform with the cap pulled low over his face. He wore tinted lenses over his eyes and what little could be seen of his face and neck was heavily scarred. A small bit of tubing, nearly unnoticeable in the poor quality of the image, extended up through his clothing and into his nose, presumably for the purpose of aiding his breathing.

Mon straightened in her chair, a chill crawling up her spine when she realized what she must be looking at. The man in the mask had always been a mystery- one that the Alliance had never been able to crack.

“So...” commented the new defector, Crix Madine, from his seat directly opposite Mon, “This is him?” A determined smile had crested upon his face. Madine was proving to be almost bloodthirsty in his hatred for the Empire, Mon noted. And though the man had come highly recommended, she still retained some reservations. 

“We cannot say for certain,” Nioma answered cautiously, “The kinetics analysis was inconclusive.” Further images were displayed. The same Imperial officer, only this time his countenance was awash with the red glow of the lightsaber he held. Bodies littered the ground at his feet, covered in charred wounds and gaping holes where a laser weapon had burned clean through flesh. Even to Mon, the inference was clear. 

“We can assume, with a good deal of certainty, that he is alive and currently in hiding,” General Draven surmised. He then dismissed Nioma, who gathered the sensitive files before leaving with an escort of rebel troopers. Again, conversation strayed towards motives and notable Imperials primed to fill the power vacuum now that Vader was out. Discomfort was clearly visible on the faces of the council as many began to consider the all too pertinent question of where the disgraced Sith Lord would be directing his rather legendary temper next, because if he was not dead, then he must certainly be plotting revenge.

“We still have no proof that Vader himself was not part of this ploy,” Madine added thoughtfully, “Perhaps he intends to... ah how do they express it? Go dark for a while?”

“That seems unlikely, given how many have been killed,” Rieekan argued, “And for the fact that Imperial media outlets are curiously silent on the incident.”

Eventually, it was Ackbar to speak the words. Of course it had to be only the most pragmatic and military minded to put forth the option.

“If no one else will ask the difficult question, then allow me,” said Ackbar, “Shall we attempt to make contact with him?” Silence swept across the table with the bold words- words that would have sounded positively ludicrous if not for this most recent bit of intel. 

“Offer him a place in the Alliance, you mean? Forgive all his past crimes?” General Dodonna expressed with his white brows raised in incredulity. Even he couldn't seem to believe what he was saying.

“Gauge his loyalties, at the very least,” argued Ackbar, “Having such an individual fighting for the Alliance could turn the tide of the war. It is very likely we now share a common enemy.”

Everyone fell silent as the Princess Leia Organa rose from her seat. Mon could feel the tension in the petite girl like a trap ready to spring. The princess placed her hands upon the table and addressed the small assembly.

“His very existence violates everything the Alliance stands for. He is a merciless killer with no morals and has waged war against us since the moment we announced ourselves to the galaxy,” she declared with feral vehemence, “The day Darth Vader faces this council is the day he stands trial for his war crimes.”

Again, the room fell to uncomfortable silence. To disagree with this statement would be... impolitic if nothing else. Mon, of course had her own fears; Fears that were not clouded by idealism or by a personal interaction with Vader in an interrogation chamber. She had her doubts that a creature such as Vader could ever have sympathy for their cause. So little was known about him. Had he any scruples whatsoever? Vader without a leash was a rogue entity. If Palpatine could not bring him to heel then the Alliance would have no hope of it either, she decided.

As the princess retook her seat it was Mon who stood.

“The risk is too great. To invite him into our ranks would be to invite death and destruction upon ourselves,” Mon said, speaking for the first time. She was aware that as Chief of State her words carried more weight than most. “If he is still out there somewhere, gentlebeings, we can all take solace in the fact that the Empire will hunt him more ruthlessly than they have ever hunted us.”

.o.o.o.o.o.

The night was young when Ahsoka parked her speeder bike and entered the cantina in the slums of Raxulon. It was one of the seediest types of places. Smoke hung in the air, pulled up towards the ceiling to form a hazy cloud and dispersing the strobe lights. A Gossam and a human woman were dancing on the stage for the enjoyment of the hooting crowd of spacers. Bottles littered the floor along with stubs of spent spice sticks and an electronic beat pounded from the various speakers placed around the grungy room, loud enough to cause people to raise their voices to be heard over it.

She'd brought her freighter here to Raxus in order to sell it. She'd been reluctant to part with it, but she wanted to take every precaution now that it had seen the inside of a star destroyer. The money she'd gotten from it wouldn't be enough to afford her another one of similar capacity, as she'd been eager for a quick sale. It was time for a change, however. She purchased the bike with the intention of exploring the planet. Perhaps she might even consider settling here a while.

Raxus and her... they had a special, if brief history. And though she was unsure why, recent events had awakened a rare, unjedi-like desire in her. She had become annoyed with simply observing the Force and the galaxy. She wanted to live it, experience it. After all, what was life? What was existence? What was meaning?

It seemed her loneliness and desperation had some effect on the people nearby.

The mild breeze from the open windows tickled her skin and brought the smell of cheap cologne under her nose. As if summoned by the Force, a younger man approached her and placed an arm around her thin shoulders. He was built like a spacer- human, dense with muscle and covered in tattoos. Any outside observer would have assumed they were familiar with one another.

“You look like you could use some company. Come have a game of electrodarts with me,” he beckoned, speaking around the paper of a spice stick. Ahsoka followed him as if it were natural, as if they were old friends and she hadn't just selfishly manipulated his intoxicated and malleable mind with her Force abilities. 

She joined in his drunken fun, wishing desperately that she was younger and less jaded. Wishing that the weight that hung heavy on her shoulders would lift, if only for a little while.

Master Yoda would chastise her for this habit of escapism.

“ _Live in a dream world, you cannot, youngling. Reality, you must face, or lost to it, you will become.”_

Eventually, friends of her companion arrived at the cantina and she became a stranger yet again, for she could not hoodwink them all at once. Feeling dirty and dejected, she slunk back outside and back to where her bike was parked.

She traveled to the center of the city, where the noise and the neon lights assaulted her senses. Electronic signs flickered with advertisements and speeder horns blared. She found herself sitting in traffic in an open square, where a holoscreen above her played footage from Coruscant.

The Imperial capital was draped in colors of mourning. The Imperial flags had been lowered and masses of people had gathered to grieve publicly in areas where sculptures had been erected to honor the fallen figure. The Emperor himself spoke in somber tones words that she could not hear over the surrounding noise. The camera panned over a large, funerary procession featuring hundreds of white, armored stormtroopers marching in neat formations. Blaster riffles were fired in salute. Imperial figures of higher rank stood by solemnly, some dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs for the benefit of the recording.

A funeral fit for a god. One that would enshrine a legend for all eternity.

She had watched this footage before. Soon, they would bring up casket and she had no desire to see it again. She averted her eyes and concentrated on the road before her.

It was staged. She stubbornly clung to that idea because she could not bring herself to believe the alternative. He was not dead. She was certain. She would have felt him die just as she had felt Obi-Wan's death. She would have recognized the severing of their long established bond in the Force. Still, a small sliver of fear had embedded itself in her thoughts, making her question this. Perhaps she was not as close to him as she had always believed.

And what did it matter if he was really gone? He was memory from long ago and he should have stayed just that. She could have gone the rest of her life without coming face-to-face with what he'd become. She could have remembered only what he'd once been, forever preserved in her mind as the heroic Jedi Knight who'd died in the purges.

Her hand gripped the throttle and she urged her bike into an open lane that would take her away from the crowded, downtown plazas. Soon enough, buildings fell away, allowing the lush, red forests beyond to become visible. The outskirts of the city were dotted in luxurious, palatial estates sat on platforms in order to overlook the city skyline and and open country simultaneously. They had once been temporary residences to Seperatist senators during the time of the Clone Wars.

Though a few nearer to the city had been restored. Most sat abandoned and in ruin, a stark reminder of the passage of time and the oppression of Imperial rule. The Bonteri estate fell into the later category, with a chain fence erected around it and shrubs overtaking the once-elegant compound.

Drawn in by old memories, Ahsoka left her bike on the raised platform and made the walk up to the doors of the castle. By the current hour, all natural light had gone from this side of the planet and only Raxus' moons lit the arched, stone corridors within. Cobwebs hung from the ceilings, and all the valuables and furniture had either been moved out or looted long ago. It was a creepy place, but then it had been a bit creepy even with people living here, she remembered.

She found the entrance to the gardens, the place she had been most interested in revisiting. The plantlife had exploded during the long vacancy, with trees standing taller than the walls, vines covering the brick so thick that it became a wall of green, and large mushrooms, a type of which was endemic to Raxus, clustered around the walking paths.

She descended the stairs slowly, hand gliding over the moss-covered stone of the railing until there was grass beneath her boots. The trees obscured the moonlight, and soon she was wandering in darkness as she sought the gazebo she knew to be ahead.

She thought about her first, innocent crush, whom she had first spoken to among these very trees. They'd been little more than children, and she had been forced to confront so many new ideas simply by being in his presence. The Force had guided their paths to cross over and over during the course of the Clone Wars as if testing her faith. How different her life might have been if she'd chosen to explore their relationship further, instead of pushing him away in favor of the Jedi Code.

She clenched her fists. It was useless to ponder these things. It was selfish and ungrateful to the Jedi and to her masters and to the good life she'd had at the temple. But where were they all now? Why had they left her all alone in this vast, cold galaxy?

A single flower grew from a barren patch of dirt aside the crumbling gazebo, its pale petals open to the soft moonlight. Ahsoka knelt to pluck the bloom before suddenly becoming aware that something was following her. Her head jerked up, and she scanned the darkness of the surrounding treeline, hoping to pick out the anomaly. She cast out her Force-heightened senses in a wide net, and then... contact.

_You were never one to wallow in self-pity, little one._

She inhaled sharply, shying away from the connection and retreating back behind her defenses. She stood, turning to face her silent shadow.

The phantom emerged from the shade of the trees, clothed head to toe in black. His face was bare, heavily scarred, with a shock of mottled white and grey hair that had grown to cover his head. His skin was corpse-pale in the moonlight, but the gold eyes burned with intensity.

“You're alive,” she whispered, almost afraid that what she was seeing was not real. She closed her eyes, willing the scene around her to dissolve, but when she opened them, nothing had changed. Moments passed and they both remained rooted in their positions. Only the light breeze made a noise, rustling the leafy canopies above them. “I thought we were done... you and I.” 

“Then you are a fool,” he hissed, his rough voice carried on the wind, “You should have realized that, having found you, I would not be letting you go so easily.”

Her shock at seeing him once again vanished abruptly and she was forced to contend with reality. It was Darth Vader standing before her, not her master, and she ought to be conscious of that.

“You placed a tracker on my shuttle,” she surmised, crossing her arms at her chest and eyeing him challengingly. She had already entertained the possibility and it was why she had gotten rid of the ship at the first opportunity. Her mistake had been to linger on Raxus for as long as she had. “I assumed we had an agreement, Vader. You were to leave me alone so long as I stayed out of the way of you and your Empire.”

There was a beat, a moment in which he should have responded, parried her verbal assault. Instead he sidestepped.

“It might interest you to know that I no longer count myself among them,” he replied eventually. Silence followed, just as it had on Arda when she'd said the same words to him. This was uncharted territory.

He was not to be trusted, she reminded herself. And she would not be so easily swayed. Surely he could not have expected her to cry tears of joy, prostrate herself before him and proclaim herself his student once more.

“You did not seem so disillusioned the last we spoke,” she dismissed, imagining that she could see his true intentions. Unfortunately, she remained curious. Why had he really come here? “I would have thought that the Empire needed Darth Vader more than ever right now, but instead holoscreens around the galaxy are now broadcasting your funeral,” she ventured.

“The Empire may need Darth Vader, however, the Emperor has made clear that he does not. Until such time as I can complete a certain task, I have suspended all previous loyalties and commitments.”

“Convenient,” Ahsoka remarked dryly. It was possibly an outright lie, though with those cryptic words she finally had an idea of what could have transpired after her departure. Undoubtedly, Palpatine had been greatly displeased with the fate of his new battle station. Displeased enough to dispose of his apprentice entirely? She was uncertain.

“I wont join you,” she declared, now with an inkling of where the conversation was heading, “Whatever this task is, I'm sure you don't need me.”

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them until he had joined her beneath the old gazebo. He towered over her and she was forced to tilt her head to hold his gaze. In the low light, his scars appeared less obvious, all aside from the deepest one intersecting his right brow. Stubble on his chin had become the patchy beginnings of a beard, though only time would tell if it would fill in enough to pass as such. She was absurdly pleased that he had not thought to replace her homemade respirator with something more... state of the art.

In her hand, she twirled the small blossom while coolly awaiting his response. She wished he would leave. Leave her in peace. He had no right to burst in on her private refuge. He was dead to her, and he really ought to stay dead. She was finding that her heart could not withstand the emotions he provoked in her.

“You mourn,” he noted in a hoarse whisper after a block of time had passed. Ahsoka nodded, for she could not deny it. “Who?”

“It does not matter,” Ahsoka answered with a shake of her head, “He was... a forbidden attachment,” she admitted, turning away from his intimidating form, realizing that he would never understand. Anakin Skywalker never had such a glaring weakness. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he had been able to remain within the Order even when she, herself could not. 

Vader allowed a long pause, and in that time she could feel him casting his eyes about the night sanctuary as if attempting to divine hidden meanings from it.

“Bonteri,” Vader said eventually, “This is one of the family's residences. You once came here during the Clone Wars. You accompanied-” he broke off for a moment, perhaps in an attempt to remember, “Senator Amidala.” His presence in the Force immediately became subdued.

“This was where Lux Bonteri and I first met,” Ahsoka finally relented as she gestured to the garden around her. Surely Vader remembered the boy. She recalled their time on Onderon together, after her master had taken note of her useless pinning after the boy who clearly only had eyes for Steela Gerrera. He had urged her, rather knowingly, 'not to lose focus.' 

“He died on Jedha,” Ahsoka continued, in a smaller voice, knowing Vader would not care about a silly, romantic fantasy of her past. Just another sacrifice to the unholy power of the-then experimental- superlaser. “I thought maybe it was time I came to say good-bye.” 

Vader had no comment on this. She was a bit surprised to sense brief flickers of emotion through their shuttered bond. Regret. Despair. So he did feel. But for who? The wind had ceased, and in the surrounding quiet, Ahsoka was able to hear the soft trickling of the stream that flowed at the edge of the property.

“I shall not disturb you further,” Vader decided, abruptly. She turned to regard him. She had not expected such a quick surrender. He reached back to pull the dark hood over his head, hiding the glaring white of his hair. White, where under different circumstances it might have retained its original dirty blonde color, even at a firm middle age. “Be advised. I am being hunted and it will not take long for Palpatine's agents to pick up my trail and therefore your own.”

“Popular as ever, I see,” she muttered. Against her better judgment, she really was starting to believe that he had come to her in earnest, that he truly had nothing left and that he had freed himself of all allegiances. He seemed to assume that her last remark meant that she had not taken him seriously. A metal finger was in her face as he continued almost chidingly. 

“You must leave Raxus as soon as possible in order to avoid detection. Before dawn, if it is feasible.”

She placed her hand over his own, forcing him to lower it, forcing him to realize that he'd forgotten himself, that she didn't need him to tell her this, that she'd been on her own for twenty years now. He allowed his hand to fall to his side and he stepped back, coldly accepting. Next, he was turning away in a swirl of dark robes. He was leaving, slowly retreating back into the shadowy brush and she wasn't going to stop him.

“May the Force be with you,” she whispered to his back, wishing to provoke a reaction or perhaps a proper farewell. It was in vain. He did not even slow. She waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps before sinking down into a meditative pose, forcing a calm, forcing the conflicted thoughts from her mind.

Faced with nothing but the silence of the ruins around her, she could only think on her own intentions.

She was not grieving for Lux, was she? It was a threadbare excuse. She grieved for the loss of potential, certainly, the loss of what could have been between them. But she could not truly grieve for Lux Bonteri because the years had been too long and they'd scarcely known one another. Perhaps there were others out there- others who'd been closer to Lux, others who'd known him more recently who could grieve that loss of what had been instead of what could have been.

But surely that did not invalidate her feelings. She could still regret his loss, could she not? She could still honor his memory. She could honor all that he had managed to teach her in their brief time together. And what were those lessons?

She remembered the first. An idea that she had conceded to, standing in the shade of this very garden.

The idea that friends could be found even in the most unlikely places.

Her eyes opened once again and looked back into the trees. The truth was that she had been grieving for another loss entirely, and the Force had shown her- thrice now- that she perhaps grieved prematurely.

.o.o.o.o.o.

Vader was at the controls of the ship, readying the engines for flight and setting the coordinates of his next destination. He paused for a moment to run his hand over the sleek dash lovingly. It was one of his most prized ships- his beautiful, Nubian yacht, which had served as his escape ship after leaving behind a trail of destruction on Coruscant. It was a shame this would be their final voyage together. She was too noticeable, and the custom modifications made it so that anyone with the right information would know to whom she belonged.

It seemed that he was to start over. All that had been part of Darth Vader's life was set to be purged. He knew he could do it again, however, as he'd already done it once. This time he would be giving up immeasurable status and wealth and yet it would still be easier. This time, there was no one left to disappoint, no loved ones to leave behind.

In fact, there might be one to gain if he had indeed played his hand correctly.

He felt her approach even before she set foot aboard the yacht, which was still parked- lingering rather purposefully- on the castle's landing pad. He felt himself smile. A quiet victory.

“You have come to a decision, then?” he asked once she had meandered into the cockpit. She could feel his smugness, and he could sense that it irked her. She was aware that she had been defeated. She could not resist him. The allure of returning to her old master's side was too strong. Perhaps she even believed she might turn him. 

“I'll allow you to return the favor you owe me and help me to evade the coming Imperial agents,” she replied, sliding into the co-pilot's chair aside his own. She made a face as she studied the coordinates already displayed upon the navi-computer. 

“Lotho Minor? Not much of a vacation spot is it?”she grumbled under her breath. She then turned back to him. “So, explain to me this oh so important task that you have set for yourself- this holy mission that you've left the Empire in order to accomplish.”

“I would have thought it obvious,” Vader answered. The yacht shuddered beneath his hands with its crescendoing power as it finally lifted into the air. Below, the landing struts folded away while they climbed to a height appropriate to engage the forward thrusters. “I must find the pilot, the rebel calling himself Luke Skywalker.”

.o.o.o.o.o.

A/N: I realize that in cannon, Lux does not die. I think it would be more tragic and poetic if he did.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The planet rotted and festered in its own stink. She had observed the mountain ranges while they were still in orbit. She knew from past experience that they were not natural land formations, rather they were heaps of trash that had gathered over centuries, accumulating slowly one dump after the next. Fires raged down on the surface, and whether they were controlled burns or the spontaneous ignition of old fuel and batteries she did not know. Great, trundling trash haulers roamed the sea of junk, manned by the semi-organic beings that inhabited the planet.

At her side, in the pilot's seat, Darth Vader used the ship's navi-computer to locate one of the many crush stations situated on the surface. As he brought his ship in for a landing she couldn't help note that he was uncharacteristically glum.

The hot, smelly air, contaminated by high amounts of sulfur and other noxious fumes was difficult to breathe. While disembarking Ahsoka noticed that her companion had donned a mask with a breathing filter, kept onboard in case of fuel and coolant leaks. Perhaps he was unwilling to subject his already damaged lungs to further abuse, or at least he was aware of how much more quickly such air could incapacitate him.

She stood at a distance while Vader began a brief negotiation with the small, droid-like creature that had come out onto the landing pad to greet them. The noise all around them was deafening. Just below the raised platform where they were stood, the jaws of an enormous machine were consuming hunks of metal being fed into it by various belts and cranes. Ahsoka observed it for a while, watching as droid skeletons and pieces of old Clone Wars technology disappeared into the flaming maw.

Eventually, they were ushered into a small, dirty office and observation lounge. Vader accepted the credit tab with a bowed head and slumped shoulders before the creature manning the station left them alone. Vader pulled the mask from his face and shuffled to stand at the window that was clouded with grime, gazing out forlornly at the elegant yacht sat on the pad. Even in the haze, it gleamed like silvery liquid under starlight, a treasure among the endless scrap.

Without warning, the platform the ship was sat up collapsed upon a center seam, sending the sleek machine tumbling to its fate. Vader placed a metal hand upon the glass before him, perhaps in reflex, perhaps thinking that he had made a mistake. They both watched as the gears of the crusher caught one of the wings and slowly, agonizingly, pulled the ship inside, eliciting horrible screeches from the fine metal before it became completely unrecognizable.

A beautiful ship, Ahsoka could concede, but a ship. Maybe she'd spent too long hiding in the slums. Maybe she'd lost her ability to truly appreciate the finer things in the galaxy, but she did not quite share her companion's total despair.

“Why not purchase a new ship, under a new identity?” Ahsoka suggested in a half-hearted attempt to cheer him up, “I figured you to be a wealthy man... these days.”

He gave one last devastated look at the wreckage before turning a heated glare upon her.

“I suspect that as we speak, my accounts are being drained, my various properties are being ransacked and my collections of luxury speeders and shuttles are finding their way onto the black market,” he growled. 

“So you're saying that you no longer have a single credit to your name?” she clarified, aware that she had let a sliver of annoyance creep into those words. She had rather assumed that traveling with him would have allowed her a small reprieve from her destitute lifestyle. He seemed to pick up on this, and though she had not intended it, there was a break in his glumness, causing a hint of amusement to shine through. _Misery loves company,_ was the general sentiment. 

“Materialism is not the Jedi way, former apprentice,” he reminded her, turning away from the window and replacing his filter mask. It was her turn to scowl as she fell into step behind him.

“Good thing there are no Jedi here, then,” she answered dryly, “Because if I'm not mistaken, you were very nearly crying over a ship.”

He ignored this and she followed her companion down into a rusty stairwell and out into the heavy, toxic air once again. A path strewn with refuse stretched out before them, presumably leading into Lotho Minor's only pocket of civilization.

“I take it you will not object to traveling via public transport to our next destination,” Vader eventually said from behind the mask, having returned to a state of cold indifference, “It is the surest way to bury our tracks.”

“Public...?” she repeated incredulously before making a sour face. Somehow she didn't think he was joking. Though modest her funds had been since leaving the Order, she'd almost always had her own ship. To forgo that was positively... primitive. She imagined a large, open shuttle stuffed wall to wall with the most disgusting humanoids the galaxy had to offer, and perhaps several pens of livestock on the same level. Meals would be watery soup and beds might be little more than straw mats spread across the floor.

However, even she was aware that putting as many jumps as they could in between them and whatever might be pursuing them was only to their benefit. She sighed in resignation, wondering how she had managed to delude herself into thinking that this coming adventure with her old master would be as exciting and glamorous as those of times past.

.o.o.o.o.o.

It was many days they remained aboard the passenger barge, and she was pleased that her perception of public intergalactic transport had been somewhat off the mark. There were no pens of livestock, and there were private cabins and real beds to be had after all, though the barge, with its clearly dated technology and design, had certainly seen better days.

She wandered through the busy corridors, balancing two trays of food on her palms. The passageway leading from the galley to the rooms was populated by families heading to breakfast herding small children, business-minded sentients speaking quickly into their coms, and- perhaps slightly more worrying- low-ranking Imperial soldiers heeding transfer orders.

The speakers overhead were broadcasting the daily update from the captain of the barge, whom Ahsoka had noticed had no qualms with shedding the veneer of professionalism to speak his mind. Clearly, he was bored stiff with his job.

“...for the next twelve hours or so, this barge is expected to remain in hyperspace as we make our way up the Salin Corridor,” the captain was saying with feigned gusto, as if twelve hours of hyperspace was something to look forward to, “This evening we will revert to realspace within the Bandomeer system. Yes, Bandomeer, home of the... well nothing I guess. Nothing but farmland on Bandomeer. But hey, at least we are finally out of Mandalorian space. I'm sure we could all use a break after that excitement. All passengers heading to Mygeeto and Dantooine must transfer at Bandomeer. I repeat all passengers heading to Mygeeto and Dantooine must disembark at Bandomeer, and allow me to wish you luck in finding a shuttle to take you to either of those rebel infested hell-holes...”

Ahsoka was forced to stand against the wall to allow two Ortolans with a squalling blue child to pass her in the opposite direction. When she attempted to cut into the traffic once again, a minuscule Anzellan hooted rudely at her. Above, the voice of the captain kept droning on.

“...and as a final note, my crew and the attendants have asked me to remind you that the restrooms on level two are out of order. Anyone attempting to use those restrooms will be swabbing the deck themselves,” the tone of voice changed back into one of false happiness, “We here with Fusion Transit hope you are enjoying your time with us as we journey out to the Corporate Sector and hope that you will consider us for future travel needs.”

She reached the door to their rented cabin and it slid open for her. The inside was dark, with only streaking stars shining through the tiny porthole. The small bed remained a mess from where she had slept the night before. He had spent the night sat aside the window in silent meditation. In the time that she had gone for breakfast, however, he had managed to connect up a holonet device and an accompanying datascreen, all very high tech and currently running some sort of decryption software, if her eyes served her correctly. Vader was listening to a static-filled recording, playing it in a loop so as not to miss any details.

“ _Red five, standing by,”_ a skip and then, _“This is red five. I'm going in.”_ The voice sounded young, confident and eager to prove. _“I'm hit, but not bad. Artoo, see what you can do with it.”_ She could gather from the context that it had been taken from the cockpit of a fighter. _“Thanks, Wedge lets close it up. We're going in, we're going in full throttle. That oughtta keep those fighters off our back. It'll be just like Beggar's Canyon back home.”_

It was here that Vader narrowed his eyes and reached up to replay the final segment.

“What are you doing?” she finally asked as she set the trays on the small table, carefully stepping over the mess of wires he had connected to every available port in the room.

He did not turn to her, but she got the feeling that he was contemplating whether to tell her anything at all. She stared at the broad expanse of his back, clothed in a robe of black synthwool that had already picked up a layer of dust on Lotho Minor.

“Listening to the decrypted rebel communications from the battle over Yavin,” he said eventually, and though there remained a horrible rasp, she had to wonder if his voice hadn't gotten stronger with repeated use.

“Information on the rebel pilot?” she guessed. She navigated the small space, coming up behind where he was sat, one cybernetic leg bent in front of him and the other pulled up to his chest with his free arm draped across it. His eyes, uncovered in the dim light of the room, reflected the glow of the electronics. He seemed calm and relaxed, pensive almost. Standing over him, she decided to ask the question she'd been wondering about for days now. “Just what is it that you want with him?”

“ _-Beggar's Canyon... - back home... -it will be just like Beggar's Canyon back home...”_ came the bright voice from the recording, queued to repeat with a touch of Vader's chrome finger on a keypad.

“I must get to him before the Emperor does,” came the cryptic reply.

“And do what with him?” she pressed, hesitantly curious. Why did he care about this pilot? If Vader was not acting in the name of the Empire, then there was little reason to pursue this boy. It could not be simple pride could it? Pride for the name of a Jedi long dead?

“ _Luke, you've switched off your targeting computer. Is everything alright?”_ The recording still played in the background.

“ _Yeah, I'm fine.”_

Vader was silent, so she continued.

“How do you intend to track him down? I hate to tell you this now, after you've gone through so much trouble, but I will not provide you with any information for you to use in your war against the rebels,” she reminded him stubbornly. If the only reason he had kept her around was because he was entertaining the thought that she might betray old friendships for his sake then she would set him straight now.

His hand danced over the keys briefly and list of files populated the screen- files that appeared to have been stolen from an ISB data hub, if the official headings were anything to go by.

“Until I am able to take the throne for myself, I have no war with the rebellion,” Vader responded finally.

Ahsoka inhaled a sharp breath. She hadn't expected the treason to be stated so casually. A Jedi was not supposed to covet power in such a way. A Jedi should never sit upon a throne. These were some of the earliest teachings.

He had truly abandoned the Jedi Code, she realized. When she had left the Order she had discarded the title and kept the teachings, a Jedi in all but name. _He_ had rejected everything.

“So that is to be your ultimate goal then?” she asked, not bothering to hide the disappointment in her tone. She was both fascinated and disgusted by the cannibalistic tendencies of the Sith. They seemed to turn on their own quicker than any outsider. Masters discarded apprentices on whims, apprentices killed masters at the first opportunity. How could any cult survive such savagery? And what had drawn Anakin Skywalker to it in the first place? How often had he lectured her about the danger of succumbing to the darkness in the Force, only to fall to it himself.

“It always was,” Vader growled, “The pilot stands as an obstacle in my path. Palpatine will find him and turn him.”

_Like he did with you?_

Often times it was hard for her to reconcile the image of the kind, harmless chancellor and that of the Sith Lord that had evaded the clutches of the Jedi since before the Clone Wars. Other times, she could see it clearly, for Palpatine, during his time in the Senate, had made no secret of the fact that he favored Anakin above the other Jedi. It was all too obvious now that the wily old man had been quietly grooming Anakin for a future at his side.

In a way, they were all guilty. The entire Order had stood by and allowed it to happen.

“Perhaps this kid isn't as weak to the dark side as you think he is. You don't even know him,” Ahsoka said, resolve hardening her voice.

“He is young and untrained and that will be enough for the Emperor to shape him into a ready tool.”

“We don't all share your shortcomings,” she reminded him, knowing that she was risking provoking his anger.

“You have not come to know the Emperor the way that I have.”

“Will you kill this pilot then? An innocent kid? Just because of his potential?” the words were out of her mouth before she realized what she was saying. Darth Vader had led the slaughter at the Temple, hadn't he? In her exile, she'd only had rumors to go off of, and at the time, she believed her master to have died on that day as well. It was only now, armed with the knowledge that Darth Vader and her master were one and the same, that she had to confront the idea of Anakin Skywalker indiscriminately murdering Jedi. From the old masters of the Council to the tiny younglings in the creche, none had been spared.

She closed her eyes, imagining the destruction and the horror, and she suffered a brief moment of clarity. Maybe she shouldn't be here with him like this. He was a murderer. A traitor. A Sith.

“I cut off all contact with the rebellion years ago,” she said in a frosty voice when he had no comment to make, “And as you know, it was barely more than a handful of cells on a handful of systems at the time. Most of those original contacts are dead, and I can tell you for certain that I never knew of any pilots named Skywalker while I was with them.”

“Your past affiliation with the rebels has nothing to do with what I require of you,” Vader responded. He scrolled through the files and lines of code on the screen before him. Several images were loaded into a program, and the holo began to display a rotating, 3D shape that rapidly took the form of a ship. It was a freighter, though it looked to have been modified. YT series, if she recalled correctly, and an older one at that.

“Then what _do_ you require of me?” she snapped after sensing that no further explanation was forthcoming.

The electronics in the room shut off, leaving nothing but the swirling hyperspace stars to illuminate their surroundings. Vader stood from his casual position upon the floor. His height seemed exaggerated in the small cabin, with the short, patchy hair on his head nearly brushing the ceiling. She was forced to take a step back so that she could better hold his gaze.

“You're not a child anymore,” he said, non sequitur. It was not a reprimand, she realized too late- only a quiet observation. His eyes, yellow and calculating, raked over her in a way they never had before and she was caught by surprise.

She scowled and looked away from him, unable to stop the heat rising in her cheeks.

“Good on you to notice,” she said, acidly. It had been two whole decades. What had he expected? His scrutiny did not end there. He took another step forward so that he was nearly leaning over her. It was a curious action rather than a predatory one, but it still elicited a shiver from her. Vader appeared to be thinking hard on something.

“How easily could you seduce a man?”

.o.o.o.o.o.

Cantonica was a hot and dry system, though its heat remained well within the levels of humanoid comfort. It's central location within the Corporate Sector, as well as its position as the final system along the Salin Corridor ensured that it saw heavier amounts of traffic than any of the neighboring planets.

The stars were hardly visible in the twlilight atmosphere surrounding the neon city of Canto Bight. Instead, shooting pinpricks of light dotted the skies, indicating the many ships reverting to realspace from the nearby hyper lane. All light sources weaker and further away were drowned out within the incandescence of the city itself.

She stood in front of a floor length mirror, examining herself in the dress that she had donned. Deep navy in color, velvet, and far too revealing for a religious scholar such as herself. Nonetheless she marveled at what she saw, never in her life having had the chance to wear something so expensive. Even when she had attended formal functions as a Jedi she had not been permitted to wear anything but a nicer set of robes. The only outfit that might have come close was the one she'd worn on the mission to Zygerria, where she had been made to pose as slave that was to be gifted to the queen.

She couldn't help her raised suspicions. Zygerria was only a few systems away, after all.

“A waste of our remaining credits,” Ahsoka complained under her breath, even though a small, girlish part of her was giggling in feminine glee. Unfortunately the droid stylist employed by the boutique managed to hear her. It politely apologized and left to search for another, more suitable dress.

“Not at all. Such decadence is essential,” a voice informed her. She turned to view her traveling companion, annoyance already crossing her face. Earlier, when they'd stepped off the shuttle bringing them to the surface, he'd given her a set of vague instructions pertaining to his plan. He'd then left her on the street alone with half the money the yacht had fetched for them. That had been several hours ago.

The words stuck in her throat as her eyes fell upon him. He seemed to have done a bit of his own shopping, as he was now clothed in a well-cut black tunic and trousers, with a half-cape pinned at his left shoulder. He was able to hide the lower part of his face behind a tall, stiff collar and he'd even attempted to comb his pitiful amount of hair over the thinnest spots upon his scalp. He could very nearly blend into a crowd with this new appearance.

It was then that she realized that the voice he had spoken with had not been harsh or rasping. It had been smooth and slightly mechanical. He no longer wore the tubing that encircled his face and fed into his nose.

“Your breathing...” she began slowly. He reached up to tug his collar open, revealing a circular, tracheostomy implant at the base of his neck. It was here that the tubes now entered his body. The area was freshly red and inflamed from the recent procedure.

“An upgrade long overdue,” he explained in his newly modulated voice- slightly tinnier and higher pitched than the one he used while in the suit. As he spoke, the device lit up with digital bars that followed the cadence of the words.

Ahsoka nodded in agreement, momentarily struck by the thought of Vader examining his own, ruined body in the mirror and attempting to salvage what he could. He was a man who had once prided himself on his looks. She had to wonder about the horrible toll it would take on his psyche to now be forced to exist in a form so far removed from the handsome human he'd once been.

“Your pity is wasted on me,” he commented knowingly, and she averted her eyes, realizing that she had stared for a fraction of a second too long.

“It's not pity,” she said quickly, “But you can't blame me for being curious as to how it happened.”

“You should have sought out Obi-Wan in his exile if you wanted to hear that story,” Vader hissed. She shut her mind to vicious truth in his words. Obi-Wan would never have done something so horrible. Not to his own former padawan. Surely Vader was jaded and delusional. She kept these thoughts to herself, however, as she did not wish to provoke a fight.

He stepped closer to her, producing a jeweled necklace from somewhere on his person, a jumble of sparkling, faceted stones strung upon a delicate chain. Gently, he laid it around her neck and fastened it in place.

“Exquisite,” he remarked to her reflection in the mirror, as if admiring something of his own creation.

“You think so?” Ahsoka blurted, somewhat startled. She'd never received that sort of praise from him. Never once had he taken notice of her looks other than to tell her to cover up. He'd always been surrounded by beautiful human women such as Senator Amidala, and after one disastrous attempt at flirtation when she was only thirteen, Ahsoka had come to her senses and realized her silly infatuation would only prove a hindrance to her training.

“It doesn't matter what I think,” Vader said harshly, motioning for the droid to attend them so that he could complete the purchase, “Only what our target will think.”

She cleared her throat to hide her embarrassment, though there was little she could do about the heat in her face.

“Right.”

It was fortunate that it was early in the night when the mission finally commenced. Canto Bight was a large city, but their focus seemed to have narrowed to only a few higher class gambling establishments. Ahsoka knew very little about the target Vader had described to her, only a name once mentioned within the upper echelons of the rebellion in conjunction with the weapons he'd been selling. Vader, on the other hand, seemed to have very in-depth knowledge of the target, enough to know where he liked to gamble his money and how he liked his women.

“ _The Empire has kept a close watch on this particular man, believing his sordid connections could one day prove useful.”_ Vader had explained to her while still in transit to the planet.

They entered the large, opulent building- the next in their string of possible locations where they were likely to find their mark. The two of them separated upon entrance just as they had at the others, with Vader heading toward the concierge to discover if their target had booked a room, and with Ahsoka making for the casino to see if she might pick him out of the assemblage.

She found herself standing upon a balcony overlooking the numerous card and dice tables and the patrons seated at them. Truely, Canto Bight attracted sentients from throughout the wider galaxy. It was one of the most varied crowds she had ever set eyes on, and as such, it ought to have been easy to pick out a humanoid face.

Her initial scan turned up nothing, only a few men clad in Imperial officer's uniforms. She descended the stairs and waded into the raucous commotion, noting the other women she was passing and realizing that Vader had been well-informed about the dress code.

She'd walked a near circle around the perimeter of the massive room before her eyes fell upon the sabacc table and her eyes locked upon the back of a human figure that well-fit the description she had been given. Dark skin. Dark hair that was carefully slicked back. Expensive taste in clothing. His age seemed to be near her own, perhaps a bit younger. The man turned for a moment to speak to a fellow player seated next to him and Ahsoka was able to catch a glimpse of his face.

Yes. It had to be him.

She bit her lip in uncertainty, still quite uncomfortable with the part she had to play. A Jedi was never sent on missions that involved such underhanded things as seduction. It went against the Code. Though Anakin had never balked from the idea, and had always employed such tactics when he thought it could benefit him.

She thought of Anakin and Queen Miraj of Zygerria. He'd made it look so effortless, honeyed words spilling from his lips while he cast lustful gazes upon the slaver queen. She had not even attempted to resist his flattery and his blatant advances.

With that memory emboldening her, Ahsoka finally approached the table and took a seat. It was fortunate her master had gone to excruciating lengths to teach her the game of sabacc. All of those long campaigns where they had spend months adrift in space with little to do had forced her to learn one of his favorite ways to pass the time. And then, after her excommunication from the Jedi Order, she had of course fallen on hard times. Sabacc was an easy game for a Jedi to cheat, so long as one had a good sense of the Living Force.

She allowed herself to win the first several hands so that she could hold the dark-skinned man's attention. His gaze alighted to her more and more as the night wore on and she smiled coquettishly back at him. For a human, he really wasn't all that hard on the eyes, she decided, and that made the situation much less awkward for her.

She made sure to win back all that she had lost and then some without looking suspicious. She also kept herself in the running for the sabacc pot just long enough to lose it to her target in the last possible hand. It wouldn't do to have him sour on her even in the slightest.

He approached her as the other players were shifting out of their seats.

“An exhilarating game,” he said in a smooth, easy voice, “Though it appears that I remain in favor with Lady Luck.”

“Mmm,” Ahsoka hummed in wry agreement, “At least she has good taste.” The man offered his arm.

“Can I interest you in a drink or two?”

“I was hoping you'd ask,” Ahsoka answered truthfully. She accepted his arm and allowed him to lead her to the bar, where a besalisk bartender was mixing colorful cocktails.

“It's been a long time since I've encountered such a skilled challenger,” the dark-skinned man said to her. All he had to do was motion at the bartender for his request to be fulfilled, “Seems strange that I've never seen a fine thing like you around before.”

“I find the rimworld cantinas more to my taste. Fewer pretenses to keep up,” she answered. The man laughed melodically, but something in his eyes remained serious. They settled into the stools just before their drinks were placed in front of them. She took a small sip so as not to appear rude or suspicious. She rolled the liquor across her tongue, searching for any hint of foreign substances and finding nothing.

They talked for some time on safe subjects with light, playful banter sprinkled throughout the conversation. He liked to brag, she learned, and it quickly began to annoy her. He spoke of his various investments and projects, of his mining prospects in the outer rim and the untapped market of the tibanna gas industry. He struck her as a man that always had a get-rich-quick scheme in mind, but never quite put in the effort to see it through. He also seemed very practiced in the art of wooing a potential mate, but not in the same way that her master had been. This man made her uncomfortable. He was so confident in himself that he couldn't fathom the possibility of rejection, and that caused her to feel as though he was backing her into a corner. If she hadn't needed to secure his attentions for the night, she might have walked away much sooner.

“Now,” he drawled slowly after a lull in conversation. He was eyeing her curiously now, “I don't get the feeling that you're with any of the... ah, companionship agencies on planet. Nor do I suspect you're with the rebellion or the Empire, seeing as I am familiar with their agents in this sector. That could make you a bounty hunter. Or perhaps you're here on behalf of one of the various syndicates, though I'm quite certain that I've already paid up with all the appropriate parties in order to conduct business out here.”

He was suspicious of her intentions. She would have to tred very carefully from this point on. Not a sliver of unease displayed on her face as she turned to him.

“Very shrewd,” she acknowledged, regarding him with some amusement. “Your reputation precedes you, Lando Calrissian.” He smiled, flashing a mouth of intensely white teeth.

“You see, this is no way to begin a proper relationship. You seem to know all about me, and yet I know nothing about you.”

“Is a relationship something you're interested in? Forgive me, but you don't seem the type,” Ahsoka said, watching him take a swig of his own drink.

“It would help me to know what you're interested in. Perhaps I can oblige,” Lando responded with oily, but pointed, sweetness. Yes, here was a true business man- someone who was interested in appeasing all sides. She almost wanted to laugh. In all likelihood, she needed never resort to seduction. Calrissian was clearly the sort of man to do anything to save his own skin or to fatten his bank accounts.

“Why don't you come upstairs with me?” Ahsoka suggested, her voice dropping to a low, suggestive purr, “And I'll show you exactly what I'm interested in.”

.o.o.o.o.o.

Vader paced back and forth in the luxury of the penthouse level suite, which- according to the hotel's records- was currently unoccupied and permanently reserved in the name of the sector Moff. The interior remained dark, leaving only the light from surrounding city to creep in through the massive, floor-to-ceiling windows. His eyes found the digital chrono on the wall once again and he noted the local time, realizing that it would be dawn soon.

Perhaps he should not have trusted Ahsoka to carry out this particular task. Were he alone, he would have went with a more direct approach, though it would have been much more difficult to get the target on his own without suspicion. In the future, he should not be so eager to make use of her, especially in this capacity. Even after all these years she remained hopelessly naive.

Vader felt her presence in the Force finally seek him out. A few minutes later and he could feel her at the door, along with her companion. He smiled, moving to stand behind the long table and opening the door with a touch of the Force. Once it slid aside, he waited for their eyes to adjust to the darkness before speaking.

“Calrissian,” Vader boomed with his new and improved modulator, “We'd be honored if you could join us.”

The dark-haired, dark-skinned man stood with a bewildered look on his face. Fortunately, Ahsoka was there to shove him inside and allow the door to close behind her. The man recovered from his confusion quickly, turning to the svelte Torgruta and gesturing toward Vader.

“Perhaps I should have been more clear about what I was into. I prefer my cyborgs to be a tad more...” he used the opportunity to make a curving motion with his hands, “...feminine.”

Vader blinked, momentarily unable to comprehend the absurdity of the man's assumptions. Ahsoka proved herself more graceful in the moment. She grasped her lightsaber and held the hilt to Calrissian's throat in a threatening manner.

“Perhaps I should have been more clear as to what this is all about,” she said impatiently.

“Easy now!” Calrissian exclaimed with wide eyes. He put his hands up. “I'm a man of many talents and there are other ways to satisfy.” Ahsoka's eyes traveled to the- rather phallic- cylindrical saber hilt once more. An exasperated noise worked its way from her mouth. She threw the gambler against the wall and ignited the blade. Calrissian's dark eyes reflected the pale, coruscating beam of light and he let out a small, nervous bark of laughter.

“Ah, thank the stars. Now, this is a game more suited to my tastes.”

“I should think so, Calrissian,” Vader growled, finally regaining his composure. Calrissian, as well, returned to a state of inexplicable calmness, even as Ahsoka man-handled him into a chair placed opposite Vader at the end of the long table.

“There aren't many who use laser swords in this day and age,” the Socorran native said conversationally with another glance at Ahsoka's saber, “You two Jedi or something?”

“Or something,” Ahsoka answered for them both.

“You should know that there are many powerful people downstairs waiting for me,” Calrissian tried.

“Cooperate, and this will not take long,” Vader responded, “And in accordance with your usual routine, your acquaintances will not be expecting you back for several hours, having just witnessed you leaving with... attractive company.”

“Ah,” Calrissian affected a sheepish smile, “That is true.” He then slapped both hands on the table before him. “In that case, let us get down to business. Barring any sort of sexual favors, what is it I can do for you fine folk? You see, I'm still very much in the dark as to who you are supposed to be representing and what in the blazing stars they want with a man like me.”

“We require information,” Vader rumbled, “If your answers are satisfactory, we will release you and no one need learn of this encounter.” He reached down to the table in order to queue up the portable holo display. He was very fortunate to have sent these files over to his star destroyer before the destruction of the Death Star. He hadn't known at the time how important they would become, and that their originals would soon be lost forever. He displayed the pictures of the freighter that had sat for a short time in one of the Death Star's hangars.

“This is the matter I wish to discuss. A bit of property you seem to have... misplaced,” Vader began. Calrissian studied the stills thoughtfully, eyes squinting in the dim lighting. “Does she look familiar? Her name is listed in official records as the _Millenium Falcon_ with you as her most recent owner.”

“Hmm,” Lando said, tugging at one end of his mustache thoughtfully, “These stills come from an Imperial CCTV feed. From inside a recent Imperial installation.” He took a moment to carefully compose his next words, “You know, I've had a lot of ships come into my possession, certainly now that I've entered into the tibanna gas industry. Perhaps if I knew why you were interested in this particular ship, it would better jog my memory.” Vader would have chuckled if he were not already so annoyed. Men of Calrissian's cut were entirely predictable.

“And I suppose a certain sum of credits might jog your memory more effectively,” he laid out his guess.

“Have you got any to barter with?” was Calrissian's sharp response.

“What about a threat to your life?” Ahsoka interjected helpfully, still brandishing her lit saber with teeth bared in a feral grin, “Or perhaps your reputation?” Truly, she could be menacing when she wished.

“It is no matter,” Vader concluded, already having elicited the reaction he needed in order to continue with the interrogation. He pulled up the next set of files and arranged them side by side. Again, they were images taken from the Death Star, this time of several men. One was the haggard form of Obi-Wan, another was the boy Vader believed to be Luke Skywalker, the third was an unknown human male, and the last was a Wookie.

“Do you recognize any of these men? They were found to be crewing your ship.” Even as he posed the question, Vader could feel the other man's hesitation in the Force. He did recognize them, or at least some of them. Vader decided to cycle through the portraits one by one, holding each on screen for a short period of time. Calrissian held his sabacc face well, but he could not hide his emotions from the Force.

There was nothing but confusion when Obi-Wan's face was displayed, Skywalker's was much the same. However the Force lit up like a beacon when the unknown man's face was displayed, as well as that of the Wookie's. He was surprised to feel Ahsoka's recognition as well. He turned his narrowed gaze upon the Togruta.

“You know this Wookie?” he asked her in a low voice.

“You met him too, though only briefly. It was many years ago, during that incident with the Trandoshan hunters,” she explained, “His name is Chewbacca.”

Vader attempted to remember the incident in question but he could not recall the Wookie. There may have been a mention, perhaps, in Ahsoka's written report, but he could only remember the overwhelming relief he had felt upon finding her unharmed. The force of the emotion shamed him and buried the memory once more. Later, he would extract more information from her. He retrained his attention upon the man before him.

“Well, Calrissian?”

The gambler's face was pinched. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple and his throat worked in a swallow. His voice, however remained unconcerned when he spoke.

“It wouldn't so happen that these men were engaged in anything... illegal would it?” he was being cautious now that he was dealing with individuals who somehow had access to high level Imperial CCTV feeds.

“They were not transporting any tibanna gas canisters, if that's the pathetic ruse you were hoping to run with,” Vader deadpanned. He decided to change tactics, straightening to his full height rather than continuing to lean over the table in a threatening fashion. “It might interest you to know that this footage was taken from a security camera installed in the hangar of the now infamous 'Death Star,' mere hours before the entire structure was destroyed, along with all archived security data. The copies I have shown you survived by chance, and the Empire has yet to acquire them.”

Technically, it was the truth. The Empire's various spy networks were probably tripping over one another, attempting to uncover as much as they could about Luke Skywalker. Unfortunately for them, the boy himself was a dead end with no document trail to follow. Knowledge of this ship was one of the few advantages Vader had over the Empire's intelligence apparatus. He queued the holo display to show the still of the unknown man once again and used the Force to slide the device closer to Calrissian.

“Give me a name,” he suggested in a low, persuasive tone, “A name will ensure that your involvement in the loss of the Death Star is never discovered by the Empire.” Calrissian now appeared horribly conflicted and no longer attempted to hide it behind a carefully constructed mask. He was weighing his options, considering the consequences of continued denial.

“What do you want with him?” were his next words, spoken so quietly that Vader had to strain to hear. “Does he owe you money?”

“You offer to settle his debts?” Vader probed blindly. He had a feeling he'd hit upon a weak spot. Perhaps Calrissian knew the man well.

“Stars, no,” Calrissian laughed nervously before falling once again to contemplative silence. Vader let the moment draw out. “You won't... kill him will you?” Calrissian continued when it became clear that no one else would speak.

“He is not who we are after,” Ahsoka declared, earning herself a glare from Vader. No one else need know of their true target.

Inexplicably, this vague reassurance seemed to do the trick. Calrissian's shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Alright. I don't know what he's gotten himself involved in but Old Boonta save his soul. His name is Han Solo. He's a small time smuggler that's been running jobs for Jabba the Hutt. I lost the ship to him in a gamble several years ago.”

“Where can I find him?” Vader pressed.

“Currently? I have no idea. If he's waiting on a job you might find him on Tatooine. That's the best I got. I really don't know much more about the guy.”

Vader sensed truth in the words. In any case, it was not Han Solo he was interested in, only his ability to lead him to Luke Skywalker. Vader deactivated the holo and stepped around the table so that he could hand Ahsoka a pair of binders he'd commandeered. The intent was obvious.

“Hang on now, I've answered all your questions. I thought we had a deal!” Lando said indignantly, eyeing the binders.

“I have altered the deal,” Vader replied, motioning for Ahsoka to restrain the other man. She obeyed with no further persuasion, encouraging Calrissian to stand before cuffing his hands behind his back, all while ignoring his protestations. “Tie him to the bed,” Vader ordered, “Make it look convincing for whoever comes to find him.”

“Cheer up, Sugar,” Ahsoka said to their captive, voice full of mocking sweetness, “Didn't you say you wanted a wild night?”

“This isn't really what I had in mind,” Lando scowled as she shoved him toward the bedroom.

.o.o.o.o.o.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

.o.o.o.o.o.

Their short stay upon Cantonica was over less than twenty six standard hours from when it began. A quick, efficient stop, Vader thought. Exactly what he'd intended. Before leaving self-proclaimed _businessman,_ Lando Calrissian to his embarrassing fate, Vader had instructed Ahsoka to encourage the man's silence in whatever way she deemed fit. He could only hope she proved persuasive enough. The ISB and the Inquisition and whoever else might be lurking in their wake would be slowed in their chase by the same degree that Calrissian could hold his tongue.

Vader was not optimistic.

They _requisitioned_ the modified Corellian light freighter from Calrissian, Ahsoka having stolen his access cylinder at some point in the night. The exterior was... tasteless to say the least, with its neon paint job and shag-covered interior. But what was worse was the condition it turned out to be in.

_It certainly hadn't looked so poorly put-together from the outside,_ Vader mused once they were well into their trans-galactic journey.

He opened the rusted hatch in the floor that would allow him to access the fuel lines and locate the leak. He wriggled down into the innards of the ship until he could crawl along the greasy duct. The metal walls amplified the sickly whine of the hyperdrive, causing a stir of unease in his gut. This type of ship did not have the endurance for the long hyperspace jumps it was being put through, but they were now on their final jump. It _must_ hold. He shimmied along, tools clenched in both fists until he was upon the leak.

He worked, gagging from the strong stench of fuel by the time the problem had been dealt with. Turning in the confined space, he crawled his way back to the hatch, but not before a relief valve of some sort belched hot steam into his face. Freshly burned and glowering, he pulled himself back into the main body of the ship, consoling himself with the fact that he would soon be ruling the galaxy and such tasks would be beneath him.

He growled in annoyance when he noticed a warning light blinking on the life support control panel and trudged over to assess the problem. The exchanger had failed a few hours ago, and oxygen levels were falling, but they would make it, so long as he could contain each catastrophe as it arose.

The lights flickered overhead and a different console started producing a low beeping, indicating a new malfunction. Vader tossed his hydrospanner at the offending machine.

“-can you hear me?” came Ahsoka's uncertain voice over the intership com, barely audible from within the static. She didn't wait for an answer. “We're reverting soon and I'm gonna need all the help I can get up here.”

Vader left the engine room in order to return to the cockpit, realizing there was little else he could do. The air in the cockpit was already hot and stale, and Vader felt a new twinge of annoyance when he saw what awaited him inside. The Togruta woman he currently called a traveling companion wore nothing but her scant underclothes, and was currently bent over the console housing the flight computer.

He held his tongue this time, knowing he'd soon find the temperature uncomfortable as well, perhaps more-so, considering his greatly diminished number of sweat glands.

“We're two minutes from realspace in the Tatoo system,” she informed Vader, mopping beaded sweat from her brow, “But we have another problem. I think this ship was stolen even before we stole it.”

“It does not surprise me,” Vader replied. It wasn't as if the man they'd taken it from had a habit of honest transactions.

“The system keeps locking me out. I don't think Calrissian had the proper access codes at all. He was using a backdoor of some sort but it keeps failing.” Vader sat in the chair aside hers, attempting to make sense of what she was telling him. The computer system was refusing to navigate past the welcome screen and only basic functions were available. The ship didn't even seem to recognize that it was in hyperspace.

“Everything will have to be done by hand,” Vader realized, “Start making the necessary calculations.”

“I have, but I cannot change the values for the atmospheric shielding,” Ahsoka said, mild alarm was now creeping into her voice. Reversion was fast approaching, which would dump them within Tatooine's gravitational influence. Vader's eyes tracked over the flight console, over each of his manual controls as he thought hard.

“Use the deflector shields,” Vader decided.

“They'll siphon all our power. We won't have anything left for the landing,” Ahsoka argued.

“Would you rather burn up in atmosphere?” he snapped at her. She flinched and silently went to work. The situation was indeed dire, cutting off all her usual commentary, but Vader found it was doing wonders for his concentration.

Reversion was jarring, and the impact of it threw them both forward in their seats. Vader took a moment to recover from the awkward transition, cursing the Corellian shipmaker that had decided this heap of parts was fit for production.

Ahsoka prepared for what was certain to be a rough landing. She pulled on her usual layers of clothing and brought an emergency pack to her seat with her before fastening the seldom-used restraints.

Tatooine was below them, calling them down like a siren with her red sands. _Tatooine_. Why did it seem as though this desolate, insignificant rock was refusing to let him go? Why was he lead back here time and time again as though it were actually the center of the galaxy? After his last visit he'd vowed never to return. There was nothing for him on-planet any longer, only memories that Darth Vader had no use for.

The viewport was already glowing from their entry into the atmosphere, and in a few short minutes, their power levels had depleted almost to the point of exhaustion. They were free falling with all other systems failing. Gravity held them in place and they both held their breath as they spiraled toward the surface.

“In case the worst should happen,” Ahsoka said, “...It was nice... knowing you again.”

Coming from her, it was unexpectedly sincere, and Vader had nothing to say to it. His hands yanked on the stick so hard he was afraid he might break it. He was fortunate. The ship responded by changing the angle of their dive enough to avoid certain death. They skipped once across the sand, hit a bank with one wing and flipped forward.

Consciousness ceased there.

He remembered all those years ago, when he'd been a young boy toiling away in a parts shop. The days had been monotonous and uneventful, filled with hours upon hours of small repair jobs on droids. Life had been so dull that when the occasional customer trusted him with a landspeeder repair he'd be ecstatic, and he'd extol his mother with the details for days after.

He'd stared at the girl when she'd come into Watto's shop because he'd never seen anything like her. She wasn't simply beautiful. She was otherworldly, incomprehensible, a complete wonder on which to feast his eyes. And he could not deny that he had held that image of Padme in his mind every single day thereafter. She, herself, was a focal point in his life. And he had been irrevocably changed just by laying his eyes upon her.

Calling her an angel had been a reflex, because he knew there was no way she could be the same creature as him- something so flawed and so base.

The suns cast their rays into his eyes, blinding him, as heat licked at his sides to let him know he was burning again. A shadow fell over him, hands grasped his arms and began to drag him through rough sand that scraped against him like shards of glass. This time, he thought not of the Angels of Iego and their divine beauty. Instead, what came to mind were the legendary shadow huntresses of Carakala, goddesses of war and blood sacrifice.

She hauled him into the shade of the nearest ridge, panting with the effort. When she leaned over him the tips of her montrals lightly brushed the skin of his neck and face.

“Hey,” she said breathlessly, lightly slapping his scarred cheek with her palm, “Keep those eyes open for a bit. You're concussed.”

Suddenly, everything slid back into focus and reality caught up with him. It was fortunate that Ahsoka withdrew and gave him back some dignity in that moment or he might have shoved her away. He coughed and spat a sandy mouthful at the wide open sky, pretending that he was spitting in the face of the forces of the universe that wanted him dead. He sat up against the rock wall, already feeling the beginnings of a splitting headache. Sand had packed into the joints of his mechanical limbs, causing their movements to become stiff. He could feel the coarse grains peppered into his sparse hair and lodged between the layers of his clothing. The view of the endless, red dunes before him was mocking in its harsh beauty, welcoming him home in the most cruel of ways, and he stared back at it with all his hatred.

They could make no move from their patch of shade until nightfall, and so hours passed in which they did nothing but watch the suns' positions in the sky. When twilight came, Ahsoka attempted to pack what supplies she could salvage from the wreck, and Vader noticed her favoring her right arm.

“It's nothing,” she dismissed when he sent a questioning probe through the Force. When she next walked past him, he reached out and snatched her wrist, causing her to cry out in agony while held in his grip.

“It is not nothing,” Vader replied, examining the appendage. It was badly swollen, and he could feel the misalignment of the bones beneath his fingers. “It is broken.” He directed her to sit as he navigated the medi-pack to his side, pulling out the bacta-infused dressings. She submitted to his care, finally relaxing under his close scrutiny as he wound the bandages tightly around her wrist. He located more injuries along the same side of her body- bruising, cuts, and a fractured clavicle that would require her to carry her arm in an improvised sling.

She was damaged. She would be of little use in a fight with these injuries. He knew it. She knew it, and it clearly troubled her. She feared he would discard her, and perhaps she was right to fear such a thing.

Because for a fleeting moment he had felt guilt over her injuries and he wondered if he should cut ties with her in order to saver her more suffering. He shouldn't feel such things. She was a soldier under his direction. A tool. And she had volunteered herself to such abuse besides.

Night was truly upon them and he shouldered the bag containing their meager belongings. It would be a dry, hot walk, but the ship's coordinates had put them within a day's travel of Mos Espa. Ahsoka fell in beside him, arm set in a sling around her neck and together they disappeared into the vastness of the desert.

.o.o.o.o.o.

The sky faded into further darkness as the hours passed. It seemed as though every star in the galaxy was on display, uninhibited by the light pollution of a dense city. In the night the desert became an ocean of blackness and they were lost in its inky, shadowy depths.

It hearkened back to an earlier time, Ahsoka realized as they walked. One of their very first missions together had been to Tatooine. She had attempted to pry into his past and he had rebuffed her. She didn't have the courage to try again now.

But this was his home, wasn't it? Did being here make him feel anything at all?

_Old sins cast long shadows_. She had always wondered why Master Yoda had first uttered that phrase in reference to Anakin, but now she understood. Anakin had interpreted it as, _Your past can ruin your future if you let it._ Except that was an oversimplification. Past _mistakes_ and past _trauma_ could ruin your future if they could not be overcome.

Small hints from Obi-Wan over the years had helped her to piece together her master's life before the Jedi temple. It was well known that he had been too old when he was presented before the council and he would not have been trained if not for Qui-Gon's insistence. What was not well-known was that Anakin had once been a slave. Even less known was the fact that upon returning to Tatooine during his padawan years, he'd found his mother brutally beaten and she'd died in his arms.

Did he consider that event an old sin? Was it even now casting a long shadow?

Vader kept up a brutal pace and Ahsoka began to struggle to keep up. The broken bones in her collar and her wrist stabbed her with every step she took and she could feel the beginnings of a fever in response to the injuries sustained in the crash.

She could not become a burden to him. The moment she proved useless to him would mark the end of their cooperation. She had promised him, hadn't she? She wouldn't leave him.

The night wore on and pain and exhaustion frayed her determination. When they were still several hours from dawn, the light of the stars was suddenly snuffed out. Complete blackness overtook them until they could no longer even see the glow on the horizon that was their destination. The wind began to pick up, starting as a light breeze and quickly becoming a torrent of air. Sand blew into her face, into her eyes, into her mouth until she thought to pull the front of her robe over her face. She could not hear. She could not see. Even the Force seemed strangely muted and out of reach, but through it she could still sense that they were surrounded by flat nothingness with nowhere to shelter. She was stricken by the immense power of nature and its destructive capabilities. Here was a true display of the Force, an event of such energy that no Jedi or Sith could ever come close of accomplishing, and it sucked all of the power of the ethereal into a swirling vortex that she could not access.

Eventually, she stumbled to her knees, caught by her good arm, and she found that she did not have the strength to stand again. The sand she had fallen upon seemed cool and comfortable and it might be nice to curl up against the wind and wait until the storm had passed.

She almost ignored the questioning probe in the Force when it finally reached her.

_I'll catch up,_ she sent sleepily. Just a rest. A short rest. Drowning. She was drowning in exhaustion and darkness and sand and wind.

In answer to her distress, a part of her that had long laid dormant suddenly flared to life. It was the bond in the Force that the two of them had once shared. A stressed and neglected link, abandoned and mostly forgotten since the day she had walked away from the Jedi temple. She hadn't realized how desperately she had been reaching for it- like she had been pounding at a locked door with all of her strength before it had finally been flung open from the other side.

Flooded with warmth and relief and peace, she did not notice the arms that came to lift her. Nor did she wake when she was pulled atop another's back and carried along.

When she next opened her eyes it was to the blueish light of dawn. Thirst scratched at the back of her throat and her head throbbed in dehydrated protest. Her broken arm and shoulder ached fiercely when she moved them. Reality fell in around her and she realized she was lying in the shade of an abandoned sandcrawler. As she sat up, a damp piece of cloth that had been laid across her forehead fell into her lap. A canteen of water had been set nearby. Dizzily, she reached for it and guzzled the last of its contents greedily.

Vader was sat crosslegged at the edge of the sandcrawler's shade. He'd shed his robe and tunic, leaving his scarred torso bare in the morning light. It was hard to look upon his ruined form. Though still thickly muscled, his skin was pale and mottled with old burns that must extend to his entire body, or at least what was left of it. She could see where the prosthetics of his arms met the flesh. His head was bowed and his mechanical fingers raked through his sparse hair in an attempt to remove the coarse sand grains that had settled there.

_Why?_ She desperately wanted to ask.  _You could have just left me to die._ It was confusing. This man was not Anakin Skywalker, he had proven that much to her. No more were they master and padawan. No more could she even call him a friend or a brother-in-arms. And yet he shared her company, bandaged her wounds, and carried her to shelter. What did he want? Certainly, he knew why she was still here. She'd made little effort to hide her curiosity and her desire to understand the man that he had become. His own motives regarding her were not so clear, unfortunately.

“Have you recovered your strength?” Vader asked without turning to her, breaking the silence of the still dawn.

“I have,” she answered. 

“Then let us press on before the heat becomes... disagreeable.”

Together, they left their shelter and made for the cluster of domed, dust-coated buildings that were finally in sight. A dirt road formed under their feet and their surroundings melded into the edges of the city.

Ships headed for the spaceport landing pads thundered overhead. The streets of the lower districts stank in the heat. Sentients pulled veils and brimmed hats over their sun-baked faces and swatted away flies. There was little reason to be out and about in the unbearable high noon temperatures, and so there were few people lingering outdoors. They simply shuffled from one, grimy establishment to the next.

Vader led her into a marketplace of sorts, though most of the vendors seemed to have deserted their stalls for shadier places in the extreme heat of the day.

She followed him through the mess of tents and stands. He towered over the scuttling Jawas, Dugs and other shorter species. Sentients looked up as he passed them, immediately singling him out as an oddity, an outsider. Ahsoka got the distinct feeling of being... unwelcome.

They came upon a small, domed building with a canvas awning. An elderly, grizzled toydarian was sat with a mess of droid parts in front of him. Vader stopped before the creature, casting a shadow over his work, but the Toydarian was so involved in his project that he failed to notice.

Some time passed and nothing happened, leaving Ahsoka puzzled as to what her old master was doing. What did he need droid parts for? Eventually Vader reached out a metallic hand and, with surprising gentleness, took the droid motivator from the Toydarian's shaking fingers. He proceeded to untangle the wires before setting the part back down. The blue-skinned alien finally raised his head, and Ahsoka saw that his eyes were opaque and unseeing in his advanced age.

Finally, Vader said something in Huttese. Her understanding of the language was not perfect, but she caught the meaning anyway.

“ _I'm looking for Luke Skywalker,”_ he rumbled in his menacing voice. Though Vader's forwardness surprised her, the Toydarian's answer was even more shocking. His attention remained on his work, and he seemed not perturbed in the slightest.

“ _You should not have come back here, boy. You haunt me enough, eh. You and your mother both.”_

“ _Tell me about Luke Skywalker,”_ Vader growled, insistent. 

“ _Don't say the name,”_ the Toydarian snapped with a sharp gesture, “ _It's taboo around here now. Mention that name and the bounty hunters come calling.”_

“ _You know something,”_ Vader rumbled, stepping closer. The old parts dealer was not so easily intimidated. He was too wizened, too close to death to respond to threats. 

“ _I think you know where to look,”_ the alien said in a low voice. Vader's hand was resting above his lightsaber. 

None of this bizarre exchange meant anything to Ahsoka. This Toydarian could only be someone from her master's past. Another whole minute Vader stood, unmoving and unblinking, lost in silent contemplation, thoughts completely obscured in the Force. 

The moment was broken with a peal of childish laughter. Two children, a human girl and a Rhodian boy emerged from the building. The boy was armed with a hydrospanner and the girl carried what looked to have once been a buzz droid clutched to her chest. Ahsoka couldn't help her smile as they circled back around the Toydarian and watched Vader cautiously.

A middle-aged human woman followed from the building, an exasperated expression in her lined face. “Watto, dear. Come inside. It is too hot to be working outdoors.” She smiled politely when she suddenly noticed Vader and Ahsoka.

“Oh pardon me,” she began kindly, “Is there something I can help you with?”

Vader's slow building rage had somehow been halted. He'd gone stiff, and he stared at the woman as if she were a ghost from the past.

“No,” Vader growled eventually, “There is nothing more I require.”

Then, with a final glare, he stepped away and left the Toydarian and the puzzled human woman to their business. Something about that conversation appeared to have shaken him, though she dared not question him about it.

They moved through the market, buying water, some questionable meat upon a spits, and making casual inquiries about the Millenium Falcon that yielded little. They eventually purchased a landspeeder using the credits Ahsoka had won in her sabacc game on Cantonica. She watched sullenly as they changed hands, wishing she could have spent them on a bed and a refreshing shower instead.

And then they were on the road once again, leaving the respectable bits of civilization behind in favor of the more lawless parts of the planet.

.o.o.o.o.o.

Vader drove them through the night and the next morning they were stopped at a crossroads with nothingness in every direction. The sun beat down upon them relentlessly. Aside him, Ahsoka took out her holomap of the landscape and studied it.

“From what little we know, we may want to hang around the cantinas of Mos Eisley for a bit and see if our mark has docked in town. Otherwise we might want to try scouting out Jabba's palace. Apparently, Solo owes a pretty substantial sum to the crime lord, and rumor has it that he might return any day to settle up.”

Vader was hardly listening to her. Her words were nearly lost in the whistling wind as the desert consumed him. More and more, his original motivation for coming to Tatooine had faded. He could not bring himself to care about Solo, or the Millenium Falcon, or even Luke Skywalker. His demons were calling to him, begging him to put them to rest once and for all.

Vader turned the speeder onto the narrow trail leading away from Mos Eisley, the opposite of the direction that Ahsoka had been indicating. She huffed in frustration.

“Just where do you think you are taking us?” she demanded to know. He looked to her, wondering for a moment how he had gotten to this point, sitting in a speeder in the hot sun on a hopeless mission and listening to her yap at him. He felt as though he was still living during the Clone Wars. 

Everything between then and now could have just been a dream, a vision. A nightmare, perhaps? He crushed the thought immediately. He'd accomplished more as Darth Vader than the entire Jedi Order had managed in centuries of existence. The time he'd spent as a Jedi, and as a soldier in the Clone Wars had been a simple era in his life. It was... pure... in a way, unburdened by responsibility or questions of morality. But that life had also been a lie, and he had since discovered the truth.

“A short detour,” Vader finally answered.

They reached the house when the sun was high. It was a small dome perched upon the edges of the Jundland Wastes, overlooking a vast plot of land. Vaporators dotted the flat earth, arranged in a semi-regular pattern and spaced at even intervals. The furthest were only white specs in the distance.

Vader stepped from the vehicle and Ahsoka followed close behind, reduced to quiet curiosity.

“ _I think you know where to look.”_ Those low-spoken words uttered by the old Toydarian had set his nerves on end, and had made the visit to this run-down moisture farm inevitable.

He'd been uncertain as to what he'd find upon arrival, but charred remains had not been forefront in his mind. The house had suffered a fire in the recent past, with even the outside stone covered in black soot.

He swept across the property, almost relieved that he need not confront any living inhabitants. They would not know him any longer, and in truth, what would he have done to them? Would he have run his saber through them as he had with other relics of his past? Would he have allowed them to cower in their home while he payed his respects for the final time?

The physical evidence of what had transpired was difficult to ignore. Footprints that had survived in windless alcoves clearly belonged to stormtroopers, as did the blaster-made scorch marks. Even without those things, the Force whispered of violence and terror, a man and woman begging for their lives with weapons pointed in their faces.

He did not know how the Lars' might have run afoul of the law, or the crime that might have warranted such a barbaric execution. The truth was that the Empire conducted summary punishments such as this with very little justification in many of the systems that they controlled. Once upon a time, Vader, caught up in Palpatine's authoritarian fantasies, had considered such measures necessary. However, to see how they might have been put to use on people he had known personally was unsettling to say the least.

He found his mother's grave in the place where he had laid her to rest. He knelt, hunched over the crudely made headstone for several minutes, reveling in what once was. He tried to imagine her face, her scent, her laughter, desperately chasing threads of sensation, but they all slipped from his grasp. Time had eroded memories even more harshly than the sand had eroded the large rock before him. 

He reached out a metal hand, allowing his palm to rest against the sun-warmed stone and he bowed his head in anguish.

Even before the Force alerted him, Vader heard the unmistakable noise of a blaster discharging its fuel cell. His head snapped up. Someone was here. Someone was watching them. The scars in the Force surrounding this homestead had momentarily blinded him to any outside dangers. He rose from the dusty ground. Everything was still and quiet again, though now Vader's hand went to his belt where his saber hung.

Ahsoka was at his side in an instant, having noticed his changed demeanor. Years of sleepless nights upon battlefields and behind enemy lines had taught her never to ignore such signals from him.

“Four?” she guessed in a hushed tone, casting her senses out. 

“Five,” Vader corrected as he zeroed in on all the hidden lifeforms. Ahsoka stepped in front of him, adopting a defensive stance, though she had not yet drawn her saber. 

“Who's there?” she called into the dusty air, “We don't want any trouble. We're only passing through.”

“Stand down, stand down,” called the voice of an older man, somewhere beyond the crest of the dune before them. Four masked hunters stood, revealing how they'd managed to encircle the small structure, though they did not fully lower their lethal-looking blaster rifles. 

The man who had spoken rose from his own vantage, hand-held blaster still at the ready. He was portly, a little beyond middle aged, balding, though he still managed a thick, grey mustache. He was dressed in clothing that could be considered well-to-do, though that was only by Tatooine's standards. He approached so that he was close enough to address them, though his tone was anything but friendly.

“You strangers are trespassing,” he informed them, fingers hooked into his belt as he attempted to study them with an air of authority, “Folks get shot for less around here, I'll have you know.”

A moment passed in which none of them moved. Ahsoka was poised, awaiting Vader's response and he contemplated, gold eyes flicking toward each of the rifles trained upon him. It was unfortunate that allowing bodies to pile up wherever he went was a sure to leave a trail for interested parties to follow.

The newcomer was busy studying their robes and the weapons upon their belts with shrewd eyes.

“You're part of the same cult as old Ben Kenobi, I'd reckon. If you're looking for him, he lives out in the Wastes, though no one's seen him in months.”

Ahsoka's eyes widened and she looked to Vader again, but his narrowed gaze told her to remain silent. What else might this fool tell them?

“This is the residence of Cliegg Lars, is it not?” said Vader shortly, taking it upon himself to make dialogue.

“Who wants to know?”

“A long lost relation,” he growled in response. The man's eyebrows drew up in surprise and he gazed upon Vader with renewed interest, attempting to see beneath the hood of his cloak. 

“The old man died long ago. Left the property to his son and daughter-in-law,” the stranger relented. 

“Owen and Beru,” Vader recalled their names, dredging them up from the depths of Anakin Skywalker's memory. The man before him nodded solemnly. 

“Dead too. A damn shame. Got into some trouble with the Imps, it would seem.”

“Imperial stormtroopers did this?” Ahsoka blurted, gazing at the destruction anew. 

“Why?” Vader asked the man. His answer was preceded by a shrug. 

“Hell if I know. An altercation over some droids if the stories are to be believed. Anyway, you're too late. The property went to auction at the end of the season. This land now belongs to the Darklighter family.”

“I care not for this dirt hovel and the sand it sits upon,” Vader snarled.

“Then I suggest you folks be on your way.”

Vader did not move from the grave. His hand still gripped the warm stone as he glared at the newcomer. His mother's resting place was sacred. He could not bear the thought that it might soon be dozed over to make place for a new dwelling. Or perhaps a vaporator would be placed over her, so that a young slave could toil away atop her dead body.

Inexplicably, the portly stranger lowered his blaster and his expression softened. He stepped closer so that when he next spoke, he no longer had to raise his voice to be heard over the desert wind.

“She was a good woman,” the older man said gruffly as he gestured at the grave, “Tough as nails. Skin thick as a bantha's. When she was taken, Cliegg was beside himself. I organized the first search party in his stead, but I was young and stupid. I led several men to their deaths that day,” He holstered his blaster and held out his hand, “I'll give her all the respect she deserves, you have my word on that. The name's Huff Darklighter, by the way.” 

Vader ignored the offered hand. He did not care to hear a retelling of his mother's capture and death. He was already far too familiar. If not for the four hired guns currently pointing blaster riffles at his back, he might have already hauled this man up by his collar and smashed his face against his mother's gravestone. He was making too many dangerous assumptions. The man had guessed him to be Anakin Skywalker. It was, perhaps, a reasonable conclusion to draw given that he was standing guard over Shmi Skywalker's grave and had claimed to be a relation of the Lars'. His former self was not entirely unknown in these parts, after all.

Darklighter let his hand fall eventually, face hardening.

“If you're looking for your boy, I can only tell you that he's long gone. Seems to have made something of himself among the rebels though. Name's all over the holonet.”

“Boy?” Ahsoka repeated.

_Shmi Skywalker._

_Anakin Skywalker._

_Luke Skywalker and Ben Kenobi._

It really couldn't be that simple, could it?

“ _I think you know where to look.”_

He could not ignore the prompting from the Force.

“Like I said, you're too late. Nineteen years too late,” Darklighter continued, “That child needed a father and where were you? Off living a spacer's life.”

A crack split his mother's headstone and Vader removed his palm. He intended to grab this man by his fat neck in response to these baseless accusations. He started forward without another thought, but was forced to halt his stride when Ahsoka used her good hand to seize his prosthetic arm. He turned a murderous stare upon her, but she did not cower. Instead she held his gaze for a moment, prepared to rein in his blood-lust, urging him not to forsake their cover and force them to contend with the four riflemen.

Rage boiled in his veins. Luke Skywalker had been here, a child being raised up by these insipid farmers. Luke Skywalker believed that he was the son of Anakin Skywalker and so did this whole Force-forsaken village.

The question remained of just who might have propagated this outrageous lie.

“Kenobi,” Vader spat the name with such hatred that he felt Ahsoka flinch at his side. Without another word, he wrenched his arm free of her hold and turned back toward the parked speeder. His robes caught the wind and billowed out behind him. He was vaguely aware of Ahsoka offering a hasty apology to the farmer and his men, but his own eyes were already fixed on the Jundland Wastes, the treacherous, rocky structures that rose up as bulwarks in the distance.

.o.o.o.o.

They were forced to abandon the landspeeder when the terrain became too rocky and unsteady to support the repulsors. Making certain it was safely tucked away, they continued on foot towards the remains of an old Force signature. The land was treacherous and the suns burned hot and unforgiving overhead. Sweat made the sand stick to her body, and her lips were becoming dry and parched.

Vader walked before her upon the narrow footpath that was steeply sloped and after studying his back in silence for some time, she finally opened her mouth.

“You know, I think we should really stop and think about this,” she said, panting in the heat, “What if it's all true? What if Luke Skywalker really is-”

“Impossible,” Vader snapped, cutting her off.

“How can you be sure?” she argued.

He paused in his ascent, turning and looking down upon her. In his golden eyes she saw a flash of naked astonishment, as if he could not believe she distrusted him. She wanted to scoff.

“Perhaps I should have never ceded that most crucial of childhood lessons to another master. Clearly, your education is lacking,” he dismissed as he resumed the arduous climb. She felt her face flush in anger and embarrassment.

“Obi-Wan was more than thorough on the subject,” Ahsoka said flatly, scrambling up behind him, “And you weren't exactly a paragon of Jedi virtues, my old master. From the way Master Mundi and Master Windu would speak of you, there was never a skirt left unturned.” 

He exhaled a noise of pure frustration.

“I, of course, knew you weren't ever that good, but still, it's not unreasonable to think there could be several little Skywalkers spread out across-”

“ENOUGH!” he roared, whirling around so fast that she shied away and lost her footing, sliding several feet back into the canyon before catching herself. “It is impossible,” he reiterated in no uncertain terms. 

She had to concede that perhaps the playboy perception had been misleading. Perhaps he'd been more faithful to the Jedi Code than she realized.

Or perhaps he'd been faithful to something else... some _one_ else. She remembered Senator Amidala of Naboo, and his poorly disguised pining and romantic overtures. She kept her mouth shut, but one eyebrow stayed raised in skepticism. 

The dwelling they sought was nestled within a wide canyon, set upon a mesa carved into the steep wall by years of erosion. The steep incline of the path leading up to it pulled at the muscles of her legs as she forced herself to keep up with Vader, who trudged on mercilessly.

When they reached the small compound they found it abandoned and dilapidated. The outer walls had crumbled and the domed abode have caved in on itself partially. The single vaporator lay in pieces aside the building, all its vital components looted long ago.

_Obi-Wan,_ Ahsoka thought forlornly.

Obi-Wan had been as much her master as Anakin had. In fact, it had been Obi-Wan who had first inquired after her, and she had assumed that he would be the one to train her. She was shocked to find orders to report to General Skywalker instead upon reaching Christophsis. Anakin had been similarly surprised to have been assigned a padawan, and it hadn't been until she was much older that she finally realized she had been part of a ploy.

The Council had used her as a tool, had forced Anakin to take charge of her in order to teach him a much needed lesson in responsibility. They were never meant to remain together long-term, but she suspected Anakin had the will to defy the Council in every way he could. Instead of balking, he had accepted the challenge.

But he had been too young- even he had recognized it- and so while he could instruct her in the martial, in the saber forms and in combat strategies, it was Obi-Wan who stepped up to fill the gaps in her education. It was Obi-Wan who taught her the finer points of meditation, the philosophy of the Jedi and the nature of the Light and Dark sides of the Force.

She closed her eyes, reaching for the Force, seeking out that old, familiar presence of Master Obi-Wan. She grasped desperately at the threads... the small traces she could feel all around her. It filled her with overwhelming despair- a sadness so deep and disquieting that she was forced to withdraw lest it consume her and lead her to a dark place.

“He was here,” she whispered, knowing that Vader would feel it too.

They entered the main building and parted ways to search the two rooms. It was horribly cluttered, with items and furniture strewn about as though others had already been through it. All was covered in a thick layer of dust and sand.

She shoved various bits of debris aside, revealing the hut to be filled with ordinary, household items. She picked up a metal pan which was still covered in cooking grease. Silverware was strewn across the floor, along with empty cans. Rusted tools were scattered near an upturned work bench, and a clothesline of musty rags hung from the ceiling above her.

Something led her to explore a hatch set into the back wall. She pulled out a dusty chest and creaked open the lid. She inhaled a shuddering breath and her eyes prickled at the corners when she looked down upon a neatly folded set of Jedi robes, complete with the shoulder guards Obi-Wan had worn all throughout the Clone Wars. She stared at the faded Jedi crest and felt a new wave of deep sadness.

“Help me make sense of all this, Master Obi-Wan,” she whispered, voice cracking on the words. “Show me that this has all been some great, tragic misunderstanding.”

A glow could be seen emanating from within the folded clothing. She parted the fabric and her hand closed around a cubical object. A holocron, she realized, and her heartbeat began to quicken. She sat back and used the Force to open the device, now desperate to see what sort of message had been stored upon it.

“ _This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen...”_

There was the crunch of broken pottery beneath boots and Vader returned to stand behind her, drawn over by the voice emanating from the holocron. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared defensively at the recording.

“ _...this message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi. Trust in the Force...”_

She had heard this message before, she realized quickly. It was heard by any Jedi attempting to contact the Jedi Temple after Order 66 had taken place. In all the chaos of the coup and the slaughter at the Temple, she had assumed that Obi-Wan had been killed shortly after recording this, and it had made it near unbearable to listen to. Even now, knowing that he had actually survived, it still broke her heart to hear the anguish in his words and to see the defeat reflected in the posture of the holo representation of the man.

With a small motion of her hand, the next entry played. It was Obi-Wan, now in desert garb, but still prim and professional as usual.

“ _I have created this log in order to detail what shall be my final mission on behalf of the Jedi Order...”_

She did not dare to breathe. Would it be Obi-Wan who would give them the answers they sought? Even from beyond the grave?

“ _The journey to Tatooine was uneventful and it doesn't seem as though I attracted any undue attention. The child was delivered to his family and they agreed to take him into their home to raise him. I will remain nearby as a precaution....”_

“ _...Desert life is proving harsher than I expected. Water is difficult to come by. I have acquired a vaporator from a retired farmer in Mos Eisley...”_

There was an unwieldy amount of entries and she did her best to skip over the mundane.

“ _A group of bandits has been raiding the nearby farmsteads. I can do little without the ability to draw my lightsaber. I never imagined I'd feel so helpless...”_

“ _The desert is a lonely place. I am an outcast. The locals think me strange for living a hermit's life. Occasionally, when one of the friendlier tribes of Tuskans migrates this way, I am allowed to partake in certain festivities, but I find their customs barbaric and they find my celibacy offensive.”_

Sometimes Obi-Wan appeared determined. In other entries, he appeared worn down. However, Ahsoka had gathered that his life after the Order had only a single purpose, and it was to stand guard over Luke Skywalker. The evidence was mounting. It was obvious that even Obi-Wan believed the boy to be Anakin's son.

A son. Could it be true?

Sometimes there were bottles littering the floor as Obi-Wan spoke and they seemed to increase in number in the later entries. There were times where he seemed to have lost his sanity, giving into the loneliness and grief that had come with living in exile. It was difficult to watch the decline.

“ _It haunts me every day, thinking about where I might have gone wrong... what I might have done differently,”_ Obi-Wan began in one particularly morose segment. Seated upon a metal stool, his head was hung and he did not even look into the recording device. “ _You were the best of us. In so many ways,”_ The hand that was pulling at his thinning hair raked down over his sun-worn face in a tired gesture. _“You great fool! Why did you never confide in me? We all knew about Padme! Did you think you were the first Jedi to ever be involved in such a scandal? Your blind arrogance never ceases to amaze me!”_ Slowly, Obi-Wan was working himself into a rage, something that Ahsoka had never before witnessed of the even-tempered Jedi master. Behind her, she felt Vader's glowering hatred falter, to be replaced with a flicker of uncertainty. His arms unfurled and fell to his sides.

“ _She never stopped believing in you, even at the bitter end, even after what you did to her. She barely survived the birth, and yet even with her dying breath she refused to renounce you! You do not deserve her loyalty! I hope you're satisfied. You traded her life for the false promises of the Dark Side.”_ Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, and in that expression Ahsoka could see all of the conflict and all of the heartache that tormented him day in and day out.

“ _I regret that I was unable to kill you that day on Mustafar, and I am certain that I shall pay dearly for that mistake. Now, it will be up to your son to bring the balance that you could not, and I can only hope, on the day that he faces you, that he only knows you as the monster you've become.”_

It was Ahsoka that reached up to stop the playback, unable to listen to another word. Her hand shook as it closed around the holocron and she felt sick to her stomach. The conflict between Obi-Wan and Vader was finally taking form in her mind, and it horrified her. For so long, she could only wonder about what had happened between them, slowly fitting pieces together as time passed. But this... it was too much. She never imagined it could have gotten this bad.

They must have fought on Mustafar, where Obi-Wan had left Vader mortally wounded. Obi-Wan had witnessed Padme's death and then had claimed the child for the Jedi Order. She wanted to believe this was done to protect the child. Ahsoka remembered how vague Vader had been earlier in their journey when speaking of Luke Skywalker's intended fate, ignorant of his lineage or not. But then Obi-Wan's act could not have been entirely altruistic. There was a darker purpose in spiriting the child away.

“ _...that he only knows you as the monster you've become.”_ That was a declaration of vengeance if she'd ever heard one.

She felt as if they were strangers all of a sudden. These were not the same men she'd fought the Clone Wars with. Fear and rage and desperation had warped them both beyond recognition. She would have never believed that Anakin would murder his Jedi brethren in cold blood, but the evidence was in the flesh, standing behind her. She would have never believed that Obi-Wan would attempt to kill his own former padawan, but the evidence was still ringing in her ears.

And Padme... Senator Amidala. That fierce and beautiful woman who could sway a thousand votes with a single Sentate speech, caught up in a dangerous love affair. A scandalous wartime romance told in secret visits and forbidden kisses. Ahsoka could imagine it far too well because, as Obi-Wan had said, Anakin's infatuation with Padme had hardly been a secret. But to think it had progressed to this point... Just what sort of dark fate had befallen her? What had Anakin _done_?

“She was alive... I felt it. She was alive, and so was the child,” Vader spoke as if he could scarcely believe what he was saying. Ahsoka broke from her own, angry musing to regard him out of the corner of her eye. He stared down at his hand, flexing his metal fingers whilst truth finally took hold upon him. So he had known about the child then? She fumed upon realizing that he had never confided in her either. Unlike Obi-Wan, she had been no stranger to scandal. She would have understood! She could have done something to help, if only she'd been given the chance.

“Then why have you been denying it?” Ahsoka demanded in a dark voice. All indulgence and pity was lost, replaced with bitter betrayal. Vader was silent for a few long seconds, on the brink of a horrible admittance.

“I was told... that I killed them.”

It was then that everything crystallized into perfect clarity. The reason Vader had resisted the connection. The reason Obi-Wan had seen fit to protect the child from the father. Numbing cold settled within her. _Monster,_ Obi-Wan had said. That part, it appeared, Vader had accepted whole-heartedly.

“You disgust me,” she said, voice cracking with emotion, “You and Obi-Wan both, and you both got what you deserved in the end!”

He loomed behind her, huge and menacing with anger radiating from his form. Her shoulders hunched as she prepared herself for whatever he was about to unleash upon her.

“I will suffer no judgment from you!” he snarled, pacing like a hungry predator behind her, “You were not there. You do not know the decisions that had to be made, and the lives that were at stake because of them!”

“If I'd been there, I'd have died with the rest of the padawans, isn't that right?!” she choked out, “Tell me I'm wrong.”

“You would have stood at my side. You would have performed the task yourself.”

She bit back a sob, unable to stop the possibility from playing out in her head. She shook her head against the image, unwilling to accept that it wasn't outside the realm of possibility. She liked to think that she would have stood for what was right, what she believed in, but was that just another delusion?

She certainly would not have taken Obi-Wan's side in the matter either. She'd have had no desire to defend the Jedi and their corrupt institution.

Her answer was the same as it had been to any impossible situation. Get out. Flee. Leave. Disappear. Avoid.

He was a murderer and she was a coward. She was an idiot. Useless, worthless, helpless to stop her Jedi family from falling apart.

She was wasting her time. That niggling thought at the back of her mind that no good would come of resurrecting this old bond had returned in earnest. Master Yoda had warned her never to get caught up in her fantasies and she had never learned. Always an optimist, always being let down. Always seeing people for what they could be instead of what they were, and _always_ paying the price.

This endeavor had been dangerous and self-indulgent from the very start, and it was time to put an end to it. She was clutching the holocron so hard that its metal corners bit into the skin of her palm and when she realized this, she allowed her grip to slacken until the cube fell with a thud onto the sandy floor. Slowly, she stood on shaking legs and drew the hood of her cloak over her head.

“I'm sorry,” she said, voice barely more than a whisper. _I won't leave you._ Her one promise to him, about to be broken once again. She turned, heading for the exit of the hut. He did not attempt to stop her as she brushed past him. Within the doorframe she hesitated, looking back toward him from the corner of her eye. “You just... make it impossible to stay.”

“You have no where to go,” Vader reminded her. And though he very well could have been speaking of the fact that they remained in the middle of the desert highlands, she knew he meant it more generally.

“Its clear to me who the real victim in all of this is, and he's going to need my protection. I'll find him without your help and I'll tell him the truth that he is owed,” she responded, more certain of this than anything else thus far. She felt angry and betrayed, but more than that she was disappointed. She could have let sleeping nexus lie, and now she only had herself to blame by following Vader down this lothcat hole.

“Good luck, I suppose,” she added in a small voice, because even after everything, she could not bring herself to wish him ill. Now knowing just what Darth Vader had forfeited in order to stand at the head of an Empire... well she sincerely hoped, for his own peace of mind, the throne he coveted would prove worth it all in the end.

.o.o.o.o.o.


End file.
